


here i'm calling (in the hope that you'll see me)

by Atlanova



Category: Silent Witness (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flashbacks, Friendship, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Nightmares, Paranoia, Post-Mexico, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-02-19 05:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22605868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atlanova/pseuds/Atlanova
Summary: 'Tell me things you've never said out loudJust try and go there if you canShow me the parts of you you're not that proud ofI'll have you know that I have good and bad daysCome on now, love, don't be naiveLay out our cards and you'll see all my mistakesWell, I don't mind while you're with me'- Fallen/Gert Taberner{Disclaimer: I do not own Silent Witness or any of its characters. Any dialogue used in this fic from Awakening 1 & 2 belong to the BBC.}
Relationships: Nikki Alexander & Jack Hodgson, Nikki Alexander/Jack Hodgson
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is my take on what could have happened if Jack hadn't distanced himself from Nikki after Mexico.
> 
> {the title and the summary are lyrics taken from the song 'Fallen' by Gert Taberner}
> 
> I know the SW fandom isn't very big here and I'd be grateful for any number of readers/kudos/comments
> 
> Feel free to leave feedback as it helps me a lot :)

"I'm sorry, Jack."

She sounds exhausted, again. And it crushes him, _again_.

He tells her not to be sorry and closes his his eyes briefly. He tells her to just hang tight and he will be there soon. With a small defeated sigh he presses the end call option on his car's screen, before putting his foot steady on the clutch and bringing his car to a short stop. He feels as if the same words are exchanged every time she calls needing him. 

It isn't the first time she has called needing him and he doesn't think it will be the last. It had been a regular occurence for about a month. A month since they had landed back in drizzly, drab London. A month since he'd run and run and _run_ around the Mexican desert like some kind of high athlete to find her, howbiet with a different sort of arenaline than that of which he feels in any of his MMA fights, and that horrific thing called fear. He doesn't ever want to feel like that again. And he doesn't want to nearly lose her like that again because he would not bear the agony.

In the past week or so he had stumbled upon the idea of setting a different ringtone for Nikki, which really means that her contact is the only one he'd not deliberately set to vibrate. Because he always needs to pick up when she calls. Because he had in Mexico - which is something Nikki will often mumble an she falls asleep with her head against his shoulder, or when he carries her jaded body upstairs from the couch. Either, soft rays of the moon will dance across her skin, or the bright beams of morning will burn her eyelids and awaken her out of darkness. Even if it's a peaceful sleep she can never see it as perfect. 

_"You always answer your calls,"_ she will whisper, her mind succumbing to drowsiness. " _Thank you_."

After making a smooth manoeuvre of turning around, Jack switches his land rover into first gear and drives forwards.

She had once asked him if anything would ever feel the same again, and the words hadn't taken the air out of his lungs nor made their way from tightly pursed lips. And then the tears had broken free from her, and that night, both broken blonde pathologist and torn Irish pathologist had met the night in silence. 

Silence.

She had told him countless times that she hates the quiet and Jack had always hummed in response. He'd been aware since she told him over that shit little phone, head to toe of her body covered in dirt and sweat and tears in that fucking coffin under the ground.

" _I can't hear anything, Jack_ ," she had cried back in Mexico, her voice not echoing around the tiny splintering box, and Jack had closed his eyes, his spirit drowning and burning up in the heat of the sun. 

" _Will I ever be who I was before_?" she had whispered one night once they were back in London after a particularly stormy evening. A tormented loud swallow had sounded from his throat, too many words becoming tangled in doubt.

That night, she had closed her eyes in the silence. In the silence of no reply. Was she used to it? Him not being able to answer the same few questions? _Probably_. Jack winces. He should be better at this. _For Nikki_.

Boots crunch the gravel beneath his feet as he twists his keys into his palm with one swift move. He shuts his car door. 

_For Nikki_ , is what he told himself that night. And other nights. But not just nights; days, sometimes. _Often_. 

That night, neither had bothered to switch the lamp off, just like they never did. Jack had slumped his drained body against the chair arm, and sighed quietly. His arm had then reached up and over the couch, fingers grazing her shoulder and the thin dark material of her t-shirt, before settling for her hair. There had been knots in it but he hadn't cared, and it had lulled her.

" _I'm not alone … anymore_ ," is another thing she had muttered as she slept that night. It'd made Jack open his eyes and turn to face her. The corners of her mouth had flickered slightly. And if the shallow, light breaths that escaped her had been anything to go by, she had definitely been having a pleasant dream.

" _They're like … a once in a lifetime experience now_ ," she'd told him on another night after he had asked her to close her eyes and get some needed rest. A quiet refusal but a refusal nonetheless. " _Good dreams_."

" _What's a good dream_?" he had asked, and even if he had known, really, that deep down, it's good for them to get talking about Mexico every other while, he wouldn't have done so had he known what she would say.

Because by his heart was in shards by the time she stopped talking and he _should_ have known. 

Oh, he should have known.

" _Ones where I'm not dead_."

________________

With a million familar thoughts whirring like relentless cogs in his mind, he swivels the keys around in his hand again and catches the right one. He pauses with ease before clasping the handle and giving it a quick upward jerk, remembering for what felt like the hundredth time that it's broken and requires a special trick to make it work. A click sounds as he inserts the key, like he knew it would, and he feels the door begin to give way.

But then his eyes catch the scratches on the silver metal lock.

And with a grimace, Jack remembers.

______________

_One month ago:_

__

__

_All lights and electronics are switched off. They'd been switched off for hours. The shadows creep through the blinds as the clouds pass outside and fade the sweat that runs down his neck and dampens his shirt_. 

_His hands compact together, nails digging into his palms and in need of some kind of MMA match to channel the shit ton of guilt and anger_.

_As he desparately fights the urge to get up and start thumping the walls again, his phone lights up the room_.

_He doesn't recall a time he had moved so damn fast as his arm shoots beside him. But_ no. _His feet almost want to start sprinting again and they burn with the feeling of the sand as if he's back there, because he does remember. He_ does. 

____

____

_"Nikki?" comes the breathy reply, his heart beating painfully in his ribs_. 

" _Jack_?"

_He swallows and almost chokes on the bile that rises in his throat. Muffled cries sound in his ear and, too, do the alarmed breaths that are the replica of his_. 

" _Nikki_? Nikki?"

_Having heard the panic in her voice - which is made worse by him hearing them through the phone again - has Jack launched off his couch in less than a second. Adrenaline boils through his overdrived body as his legs get ready to start running again _.__

____

____

" _Nikki, talk to me!" he almost shouts, banging his fist off the wall_. 

_On her end of the phone there are no words that he can hear as his ears pulsate and his chest heaves. It's just noises. Cries and wails and they break his heart_.

_He slumps down against the wall, the same organ that is shattering into peices also beating rapidly in his chest. His eyelids shut tight and the side of his head burns_. 

" _I'm here, and I'm not hanging up," he whispers. "I promise_."

" _Jack!" she sobs, and it sounds as if she's struggling to breathe. "J-Jack … it's dark. It's … it's t-too dark! And I need you h-here because I-I can't_ … " 

_He stands back up as her sobs become louder and the words she had managed to speak fade. He grabs his keys - after quickly checking that Nikki's is on the chain - and he doesn't think he closes his door properly but he really doesn't care_. 

_He thinks he breaks the speed limit on the way to her modish housing block but he doesn't care about that either._

_He knows that he leaves permanent scratches on her front door's lock with the key in a desperate panic to get to her, and he will apologise or fix it or_ something.

_But not now_.

_Now, he just needs to get to her because he can hear her hyperventilating from where he's standing outside_.

_And Jack swears, as he finally manages to unlock the door and he hurtles down the hallway, and as she runs to him and he catches her weakened panicking body as she collapses in cries, that he will never not answer her calls_.

_He will always answer her calls_.

________________

After tugging the key out of the lock, Jack pushes down on the handle and opens the door. It creaks on the hinge a little, and he remembers his mental note of getting round to fixing that for her, too.

"Nikks?" he calls down the hall.

He recollects, in the early days of these visits, how much control she had gained. Before, he would have to step over piles of washing and all sorts of boxes to get further than her hallway, but now the only weight on the floor is a large cream rug.

Jack kneels down and unties the laces of his boots. He had been quite happy to do the little bits of DIY around her house since returning back from Mexico, but scrubbing her pristine rug clean from the mud on his boots is something he wouldn't quite wish to do. He nudges the boots out of the way with his feet and shrugs his jacket off, but the movements falter whilst he remembers exactly why Nikki doesn't want someone entering her house to fix her boiler or whatever else. 

" _You never know who they are or what they're capable of_."

Jack winces and shakes his head of the memory, and then pads through the oak door to her kitchen. He can hear the monotone voice of a female going on about some sort of politics, which he supposes is either the news or a documentary of some kind. Other than that, it's silent, which he doesn't think is unusual given what she'd told him over the phone half an hour earlier.

What he sees when he casts his gaze around the open-plan kitchen and living room doesn't surprise him, but it also does little to relieve him of concern. 

There aren't many lights on in the two rooms and whilst the mild weather outside doesn't necessarily scream sunny, there are enough windows and french doors to light up the room naturally. Or normally - probably about a month ago - there would have been, but half the windows are covered with white blinds and the pewter grey curtains half-cover the doors. This is far from news to Jack, though. 

On the iron grey modular sofa is Nikki, sat foward and hands running through her unkempt blonde hair, dismantling strands of it from the scruffy bun. 

She jumps a little upon hearing footsteps nearby and a small gasp escapes her, but the fright soon subsides when she realises who it is.

"Hey," he offers gently and smiles. 

"Jack," Nikki whispers, and the corners of her mouth twitch upwards. She stands and walks past the oak dining table towards him.

He wastes no time in stepping forwards and enveloping her in a comforting hug, sighing into her hair before taking a quick glance around the room. It's as it always is. The lamp is on, cushions from the couch are disordered and a pile of medication - which Jack knows are a mix sleeping tablets and stress-reducing pills prescribed by her therapist - sit on one of the side tables.

"You alright?" he asks casually as he releases her from his arms. His eyes fall to her face and, not for the first time, a loathed surge of guilt and worry hits him at the sight of her bloodshot eyes and the dark shadows beneath them. 

Her hands brush past his arms as they leave his shoulders. She smiles up at him a little, but Jack squints at her. It isn't the first time she's forced one at him and he really doesn't know why she keeps trying. It fades quickly, though.

"You looked surprised," he says as she moves into the kitchen, "when I walked in."

Nikki turns back around quickly to glance at him and takes two mugs from the shelf. "I'll give you one guess as to why," she remarks tiredly.

"You always keep the door locked, Nikki - hence why I have a key attached to me at _all_ times," he reminds her as he jangles it in the air. The noise vibrates through her head. "We're the only ones that do. Did you not guess it was me?"

Nikki ceases her task and puts the kettle back down, turning around and leaning against the worktop. "You know I didn't, Jack. I never do."

"Have you mentioned it to Jasmine? The paranoia?" he asks, walking past her to the kettle and ignoring the slight glare she gives him.

"A little, but I don't see her until next Monday now." 

"Monday?" he asks, reaching up to the shelf for teabags. "I thought it was Wednesdays you see her." 

Nikki sighs, resting her elbows on the worktop. "She's a therapist. Her schedules change, Jack."

"Right," Jack mutters as he goes about making the tea, sensing that she's perhaps too tired or just not in the right state of mind right now to talk about it.

Which he completely accepts.

When he's with Nikki, sporadically there are times it doesn't feel like she's really there at all. There are moments they'll sit and laugh about all manner of things, or lounge around her house having scientific debates - because given that she is on leave from work right now, he thinks it's the least he can do. There are hours she'll wake up in a cold sweat and he'll instantly be there to coax her through. There are minutes they can sit and talk about Mexico without hiding thoughts and feelings - which, as it turns out, seems to be helping him, too. There are times she will ascend into an anxiety attack and he will help her through it. And there are sections of a day where words will go unsaid but not misplaced, and the pair will fall into a silence but he'll be glad that he can give her the safety of company at least. For Nikki, without Jack, hush and stillness is harrowing. 

He isn't yet sure which of those days today could be, though she had called him for a reason.

She always does.

And he always answers.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter two! Some of it is a bit angry and intense, so sorry for that, but it's realistic given the situation. 
> 
> Please R&R if you can as it helps, but more importantly, I hope you enjoy :)

"I saw him." 

Jack takes a step backwards and leans against the worktop, lukewarm mug in his hands. He glances at her, but she doesn't look at him. 

"Hmm?" he asks softly. "Which one?"

She curls her fingers around her own mug, and Jack watches. He watches them go white as she closes her eyes and lets out a small sigh.

Jack _knows_. She'd told him over the phone about three quarters of an hour ago, it must be, now. " _He's here again, Jack_."

"El Buitre," she whispers hoarsely, reluctant to speak his name but desparately wanting it to escape her mind. Lifting her head to look at Jack, she sees his eyes. She sees the pain and the guilt there. It's always there when she mentions _him_.

_______________

_A little over a month ago:_

_"If we were in England, Nikki …"_

_She sniffs and turns to face him. Her blurry eyes can't focus on him entirely._

_"Don't, Jack," comes the whisper._

_His eyelids close tight and he shakes his head, leaning back against the head board as his body tenses. His fists curl angrily, and Nikki covers one with her hand as she continues to gaze at him. He hadn't looked at her properly yet._

_Every feature of his face is exhausted and tormented. In this godforsaken place, whole nights of sleep were missed and days of wake were spent swearing, fighting, shouting, running, and driving his sanity of a cliff because he didn't know where she was. That had only stopped today when he'd seen her crawling over the sand, the hazy warm orange almost making her faraway body a silhouette. He'd thought he'd imagined her at first._

_He lets out a tired sigh and she feels his fingers uncurl._

_Patches of his shirt are still covered in sand and dirt, and his trousers are dusty with it, too. His hair is disheveled and the shadows under his eyes are too obvious and they shatter her barely-beating heart._

" _I'm sorry," he whispers, eyelids opening and his gaze falling and fixating on the end of the bed._

_She lets herself slowly cave into Jack, and she rests her head on his shoulder. His arm circles around her waist protectively_.

_They had fallen into the pattern of not speaking for a while and instead letting their overdrived bodies unwind as best they can. When they do talk, it's limited mutters of sorrowful thoughts, tearful apologies, and painful confessions or careful divulgences._

_He relishes the sounds of her shallow breaths even if he isn't the saviour of them - which is an admittion alone that he wants to beat the wall for. Efforts or new leads he'd safrificed every sense of his reasoning for were found in vain and every second was a second lost in the fight for Nikki's survival._

_"If we were in England," he repeats, his voice dry and pained_.

" _We're not, Jack, okay?" she coaxes, leaning off his shoulder to face him. "In this moment, that's the only reason I'm grateful we're here and not there."_

_The gunshot explodes through his head and he jerks forwards, forehead starting to burn as if the sun is scorching him again._

_"I got him killed, Nikki. They shot him in the head," he whispers, and he feels a steady hand on his arm. "That's manslaughter."_

_"You were trying to find me, Jack!"_

_How many times did he attempt that and fail?_

_"I should have known, Nikki. All they wanted was to be rid of El Buitre and I fucking gave them it."_

_"And all you wanted was for them to give me to you."_

_"They never had you in the first place."_

_"I know, but that's not the point. You know that. And he was part of a drug cartel, anyway. And what he did to ... Luisa," Nikki whispers, barely able to say her name even after today, "and everyone else he murdered. Jack, what you did was selfless."_

" _It got a man killed."_

_"You had no way of knowing what they would do. You didn't know they would shoot him. You thought giving them El Buitre would get me back."_

_"But it didn't. It never would have!"_

________________

He'd struggled for a while with the whole situation and everything he turned over and over in his head had added to the culpability of Mexico. He shakes his head and places his mug down on the counter. Thinking about that evening - what had happened after Nikki saved herself, stumbled across miles of desert under the scorching sun and then collapsed in his arms - gives the the guilt rise to pelt every fibre of him all over again.

Sometimes Jack thinks he can still feel it, but when that happens he reminds himself that they'd sorted through who was to blame and who wasn't. 

Oh, he really thought they - _he_ \- had. He really did. 

A soft sigh escapes him as he steps towards Nikki. The excessively tattooed face of the cartel leader had haunted Jack for days after Mexico, which he had supposed was a sort of metaphor for the blame. But continuously, Nikki had seen the faces of those who'd been trapped and tangled in their predicament in her nightmares _and_ in her house. 

He can't imagine what that feels like. He can't imagine what any of her PTSD feels like, though he can be there. 

Because he _had_ been there, after all, in the harrowing trauma of the few days. He knows what they went through. He understands the heartache that accompanied every single goddamn second of it.

"Tell me he's not really here," she whispers as she buries her head in his shoulder. "Just say it, Jack. Please."

He screws his eyes shut and sways her a little. He'd said it so many times, and he knows that it doesn't help her in the long term. It's not acceptance, after all. It's forcing the pain away, like pinging a rubber band whilst it's still attached to one's finger. What affixes it to oneself makes it come right back and it's _sore_ when it does.

Muffled sobs are the only sounds in the house for a while, after that. He can't tell her that it's not real because it would make everything worse. Because if he did-

" _If it's not real, then why does it keep happening!"_

-Jack swallows. The first time - and all the other times - he'd told her that the people she was seeing were hallucinations and nothing more … it hadn't gone down too well. Jack knows it's the truth, but for Nikki, the veracity is being swallowed by the pain of the aftermath.

She pulls away when he doesn't answer and looks him in the eye curiously. "Jack, say it for me. Please. He's not here!"

Jack shifts his feet a little and drops his head, closing his eyes for nothing but a moment before looking back at her. "I can't, Nikks. Not anymore." He takes his hand to the side of her face and runs a thumb under her eye gently. "You know I can't."

_But does she really?_

She blinks tiredly as another tear rolls down her face, and whispers something that's almost incoherent, but from what Jack can make out in all the cries it's either his name, or ' _please_ ', or both. He swallows.

"I can't, because they'll come back, Nikki."

" _No_. No, _don't_ say that!" she panicks.

"I'm sorry," he tells her with a pained sigh. "I don't want to, but to do otherwise is … it's tormenting you. I tell you that they're not real but they come back and they obviously _feel_ so real, and it confuses you. I can't do that to you anymore."

She tilts her head and Jack's eyes water at the sight. Tear after tear spills down her face, and he almost doesn't know what to do in that moment.

_Why does that keep happening?_

Jack silently curses the demons of culpabulity that he'd really thought had been crushed by his fists in his MMA matches. He'd seldom trained or competed in many of those in this past month or so, though. He'd scarcely even set foot in the gym. 

He gently pulls her into him. Covering the back of her head with his hand, he mutters something into her hair. Even if it barely makes it out of his constricted throat, he will absolutely swear to its truth.

"You're safe."

The whisper reaches Nikki's ears all the same, and it ceases her bone-weary legs from giving way beneath her as she holds onto him with white fingers and stiff knuckles. 

________

_"But it didn't. It never would have!" Jack mutters through gritted teeth, tense again as he stands up from the bed. His dark hair is somehow even more rumpled and his eyelids droop. But his muscles bulge through his shirt and his enraged spirit seems to be anything but dejected in this moment._

_"That's not the point!"_

"Isn't _it?" he almost chokes out and he walks towards the bed, his strides slow and careful but his shoulders hauched._

" _No, Jack. It's_ not," _she argues, shifting herself to the end of the worn matress and looking at him with tears in her eyes. She'd give anything not to see him like this. "Sometimes we have to do awful things if we think it's going to help someone else."_

" _I know, Nikki. But_ manslaughter-"

_"Isn't a common example, but it is right now. And that's just how it is. I know you never meant for this to happen. You didn't_ want _El Buitre dead," she tries to reason._

_The pathologist stands from the bed but keeps her distance from Jack. Her head feels a little fuzzy as she keeps her eyes on him._

_Jack walks to the door, and it suddenly has Nikki terrified that he's going to leave her alone in this room. But he doesn't - and she chastises the fear because, hell, would he_ ever _leave her to solitude after this?_

" _Of course I didn't," he sighs, and his palms quickly find the wall. Nikki almost rushes over to catch him nevertheless he stays standing. A deep sigh escapes him and sweat pours down his forehead. He rests his back against the cold, crumbling wall._

_A salty water droplet slides down Nikki's cheek as she looks at him. The immense sadness and guilt in his eyes breaks her heart all over again._

_Loud croaks of various insects sound in the room, save Jack's still-angry breathing. The thin glass window pane does its job of keeping the scuttling anthropods out but does very little to thin the humid, sticky atmosphere as it closes in around them._

_Jack shakes his head, and his eyelids compress. The throbbing of his heart is almost visible to Nikki and she can nearly hear it - or is that her own? She feels the room spin slightly and she reaches the tips of shaking fingers up to touch her forehead, though with such advanced medical knowledge she should surely know a better way of holding onto the balance._

_A million noises are suddenly muffled and shrowded in chaos in Nikki's ears, but she can recognise the sound of Jack's bare feet pacing on the ripped carpet immediately. She'd heard it enough in the past six hours. He's getting worked up again and she can feel the palpable vexation. She wants to tell him to stop, even for a few minutes, though he is irascible._

_"But what if handing him over to them was the only way to get you back? You know … what if- what if they actually_ had _got you and I knew that for certain? Would I still have done it? Would I still have done it_ knowing _beforehand that El Buitre would be shot?"_

_She looks up at him. The unbearable desert humidity is burning her up even more just watching his rapid movements._ "Jack."

_He stops. He stops walking and turns to face her. A tear of his own rolls down his cheek and Nikki swears that she both feels and hears her heart snap at the sight. She runs a hand through now-damp hair as Jack swallows loudly_.

_His afflicted eyes stare into hers and it's suddenly quiet._

_It's eerily quiet._

_Everything is at a standstill._

_It makes Nikki want to scream._

_Until her breaths are slow but fast at the same time. The heat sticks her clothes to her skin, beads of sweat rolling down her forehead. The temperature is swallowing her up and exhausting every fibre of her trembling body. Her heart hammers in her chest and though she doesn't wish to blame Jack for anything, she's sure his previous stressing hadn't helped matters._

_A hoarse, hushed untertone struggles from his throat. His accent is soft but not in a good way - Nikki is painfully certain of it._

_" … If it meant that I'd have you … safe with me? From all of this?"_

_She swallows heavily and almost chokes on the bile in her otherwise dry mouth. The agony in his tone makes her stand even though the tiny voice inside of her is telling her to sit the fuck back down or she might just-_

_"It's o-okay. Jack-"_

_"No, it's not!" he bellows, his muscles bulging again and wide eyes filled with, oh, too much torment. "Because I would have done! I'd have handed him over just like that … to get you back. To stop your suffering. To bring you home!"_

_Ringing in Nikki's ears drowns the rest of the sharp Irish accented words out. Jack appears to whirl around the room along with the furniture and the walls and-_

_She can't breathe. She chokes._

_The ground disappears from underneath her feet. Her ears seem to find vigour for a moment to hear Jack call out her name and she thinks he sounds quite panicked but just-_

_Her head hits the carpet._

_She feels secure arms lift her body._

_Her vision goes black._

_All of her muscles and limbs feel numb._

_But one voice echoes in her head before she loses consciousness altogether._

_"To bring you home."_


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm sorry for the delay but I started writing chapter three, and then it got too dense so I had to make it two chapters. And then I redrafted it which took a while :/
> 
> I'll try and be more consistent with the updates but school's a nightmare because it seems to seep up all my time. Also, on Wednesday I was an absolute idiot and dropped my phone, and the screen is done for so I apologise for any grammar errors and so forth, it's just hard to see with all these lines all over my screen 
> 
> On the plus side, you get two chapters tonight!

The thick red marker trails along the box labelled as the 10th of April. Her focus flickers back along the imprints, the numbers decreasing with each square. The crosses are on each one until the 2nd of March. It's not something her therapist had told her to do, and there's probably a reason for it.

She shudders and snaps her head away. 

Oh, give her strength, she _knows_ there's a reason for it.

She'd been a survivor for forty days, and counting. Whilst it brings her a comfort - that she is alive, that she made it - it twists the memories around in that reasoning. In reality, she had kept her body and soul together, so to speak. But to Nikki, in the daylight she is crying, and in the night she is dying, even when she isn't confined to unsettled slumbers. 

And the red crosses do very, very little to cease her memories of that.

Forty days ago, she had arrived in Mexico; Luisa's father had wanted her at the funeral and she couldn't have said no. In all honesty, though, there's no way she would have refused. But no-one was to expect her body not to have been in the coffin - for the absurd hopes of her being alive to be answered so quickly, if at all. That's when it all started.

Two days after that, Jack had arrived. His duty of protection had started the minute he stepped out of the airport doors and onto the burning sand. That's what he'd told Nikki, anyway. 

" _I went out there to get you. I was meant to protect you, whatever happened_."

Forty days since the nightmare started, and it's yet to end.

Cable-knit boot slippers slump around the kitchen table, the wooden boards smooth against the pale turquoise material. She'd often thought about getting the whole floor of her house redone, because if she makes the mistake of forgetting to put the slippers on and walking around in bare feet, the noise is … _loud_. Not loud to anyone else's ears, but defeaning to her. The _thud thud thud_ along the floor boards forces her eyelids closed, and then her legs go weak as she remembers, and her arms and palms ache suddenly as if they had been thrashing around a hard surface. 

Nikki curses, which is something she had grown quite accustomed to doing in the past month, and sometimes without processing it. She shakes her head and winces with anger as if it will push back the memories. She has often wondered of there could be a day she could perhaps go without flashbacks and just live in the now, and not the past. 

One bitter and very nearly disheartened laugh almost escapes from her lungs. She sighs and feels a tear roll down her face.

There's a pit in the bottom of her stomach. It's a void and it churns, as she grabs a pan from the hook. From time to time there are moments it does that and she feels like she's going to vomit. A few times, she actually had. 

" _I want you to try and complete day-to-day tasks, Nikki. Even if you don't think it's worth doing them, it will give you a sense of normality_ ," her therapist had said.

She doesn't quite remember what normality even feels like any more. There are times Jack will bring the newspaper round and they'll sit doing the crossword puzzles - and bicker about the answers, of course. She feels normal _then_. It doesn't last, though. 

It never lasts no matter how much she, oh, so wants it to.

Nevertheless she clings onto the goal that she will stop feeling so numb and unfamiliar to herself if she just keeps trying. And if there's anything anyone notices about Nikki, it's that she's determined, and sometimes stubbornly so. 

Her stomach growls but all she feels is nauseous and empty. She reaches out for a knife from the magnetic wall holder anyway, her movements laggard. She places her fingertips around a bell pepper but she can't feel the rubbery surface. Her eyes flicker and drift, before the white window sill comes into view. 

Everything else blurs as she focuses on it. 

The low murmurs of the television a little distance away from her morph into silence and then fade from her ears. She feels stuck in her slack movements but her brain does not feel in control of them. Her now-wonky logic senses that she is a puppet on a string.

Exhaustion washes through her like a wave she'd long believed has some kind of ill-intent. Everything feels like white noise - a low buzzing in her ears and dizziness in her head. 

Yet all sensation is far away. 

Her eyelids come down slowly and then open again.

A slow, slow exhale escapes her.

Disorientation rises high to her head as the knife makes a sluggish cut through the vegetable's flesh. 

And then another.

And then another. 

But, no. Wait-

The television becomes so loud that her ears ring, and she screws her eyes closed tight. 

Lightheadedness hits her but she doesn't feel as detached.

And then the blood pours over the silver blade, over her skin and onto the worktop. 

_Dammit_.

She _feels_ it as her limbs come to. It's a sharp, stingy excruciating pain and she cries out. 

_____________

A phone call from Thomas had resulted in Jack dragging himself from his bed at 5am muttering various curse words. He'd pulled up on some remote and muddy as hell farm track, and in any other situation he wouldn't have a problem. Being a country boy by childhood he didn't mind dirt on his shoes, only if he slipped and fell in his forensic suit not only would he have to drive all the way back to the Lyell to shower and change the suit and _then_ drive all the way back, but he'd miss going to the shop to get some sort of breakfast marketed at early-morning commuters.

_And_ he'd miss picking up the latest issue of the London Times for Nikki. With sometimes working late into the night and with unpredictable morning hours, and additionally spending most of his spare time at the gym or throwing people around in a ring, he'd never had time to bother with newspapers. And there wouldn't be any point if he was to; Nikki and Thomas often conversed about the neoretic headlines at the Lyell anyway, whilst samples came through or paperwork was being done. He'd not contribute to it unless he was to make a quip like ' _spoilers, Nikki. I haven't read that one yet_ ,' to which she would slap him round the head with the paper if there were one at hand. But if it helps to take her mind off things and brings her a sense of being back at the Lyell - although he isn't sure how much of the latter is actually good for her - then why shouldn't he bring her one?

The first time had been two weeks after Mexico. She sat in peace with a slight twitch of a smile on her face, absorbed herself in the headlines, and he settled himself at the table to catch up on some reports.

He entered her living room the second time with the paper in hand, about a week after that, only to see it was empty, as was her kitchen. A sweep of the whole downstairs and he found that was vacant of life, too. He'd headed upstairs straight away, concern pinching at his gut and slight panic rising in his senses. He stood on the landing and called out her name, to be met with silence. A rapid few steps forwards later and his ears were met with a quiet gasps and slight cries. But they'd been loud to him; those types of things had become more important than anything. After calling her name once more, and giving one distracted knock to her door, he'd entered and hadn't been sure which sight to feel pained by first. He'd seen it all before but, that didn't lessen the effects. The post-anxiety attack trembles in her hand hadn't quite stopped her from flicking through the paper about an hour later, though.

Jack had spent his Sunday afternoon listening to annoyingly loud rain fall on the windows and roof of the Lyell. And last night, he'd had little to no luck in the manner of sleep. Just like other days the events of Mexico were eating away at his mind, he'd completely shut himself off from everything possible. The heavy pitter-patter of sky-born water droplets had been particularly vexing today. After a good while of sitting working away at samples and reports, Clarissa's eyebrow had arched upwards, followed by the scold ' _if you hit that keyboard any harder, you'll put a hole in it_ '. He hadn't even bothered answering her or searching his mind for a transparent excuse since all politeness had been swallowed up in his many forms of anger and sleep deprivation. And to add to it, things at the Lyell have been difficult since they are still one pathologist down.

He'd been looking forward to visiting Nikki because by hell, he misses her at work, and she is usually his go-to for talking. It's never deep psychological revelations on his part, but he's found that skimming things over with a few swears sometimes helps. Especially when the gym is out of the question. 

The hazy navy blue of the night settles quick as he pulls up on her driveway. As he gets out of the car, he grimaces at the storm cloud in the far distance, before turning and walking to Nikki's front door, key in hand. 

When he enters her kitchen, he sees the unexpected. A light and perturbed yet silent sigh escapes him as he leans on the door frame. 

Jack is just glad that they both have extensive medical knowledge.


	4. Chapter Four

"What'd your finger ever do to you?" he questions as he walks further into her kitchen, placing the newspaper down on a nearby worktop somewhat inattentively. 

Nikki looks up for a second to meet his eyes, and she notes surprisingly quickly that they're careful and concerned - she regrets that it's nothing she hasn't seen before. A slight grin twitches his lips, but it's void of the amused charm that's so famously him. 

She sighs lightly and returns her attention to wrapping her index finger in ripped, thin gauze. It feels numb, which she is grateful for, but it's not at the forefront of her mind. 

"Hey," he relents, the gaiety slackened and his tone soft. He gestures to her hand, before sitting himself on the chair opposite her. "What've you done?" 

Jack takes notice of the roll of gauze grasped tight in her left palm, and realises that the end hanging off has loose threads and an untidy rip. He forces down the sigh and his eyes flicker to the table. There are spots of crimson liquid on the chunky oak, and a blood-mottled checkered tea towel sits scrunched beside Nikki's elbow. 

He shakes his head a little and then watches his greatly valued friend. He painfully regards her attempt to wrap the gauze around the wound with difficulty, and the way she blinks tiredly, and notes how there are very distinct tears of frustration in her eyes. 

"Nikki? What's happened?"

Impatient movements continue to take course in her fingers and her eyes stay fixated as if he's not there; hell, he might as well be back at his dingy flat. But, really, he wouldn't be any other place right now. She could sit and ignore him for hours and he wouldn't budge; they'd sat in solitude for long moments before when she'd needed it. 

He shuffles a little on his chair and frowns at her. Considering that she may just be too tangled in vehemence to listen properly, he carefully moves his arm whilst muttering her name to remind her of his presence.

She lifts her head at the gesture and stares at him for a millisecond, her eyes fluttering around his disquieted countenance. "Do I need to remind you of my career profession, Jack?" she asks quietly. "I can take care of this."

He swallows and retracts his arm so his hand falls to his thigh, and eyes her worriedly. "I'll only ever help you, Nikks. You know that," he says in an undertone and faintly nods at her.

"Yes," she mumbles drowsily and looks back down, but the wrapping of the gauze slows and the features of determination on her face fall. But before long they quicken again. Jack shakes his head; they're a lot more irritated than before and the white material layers at sixes and sevens. 

"Alright, c'mon," he insists, his voice gentle but tone firm, as he carefully extends his arm once again. She eyes him for a second, and opens her mouth to speak but Jack inhales deeply and raises an eyebrow. "You're shakin'," he whispers.

She sighs and rests her left arm on the table, letting him take her other hand. He places his palm to her thumb and slowly traces two fingers from his right hand on the back of her injured one. 

Nikki watches him as he examines it, and the slight hesitation in his movements is something she especially notices. "I should be able to wrap it correctly."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know," he says, and brings his gaze up to her for a moment. "It's alright," he whispers before a reassuring smile flickers on his face. He returns his attention to her injury. "I'm gonna have to redress it."

She just nods gently and then props her head up on her left hand. She can't help the tiny fond smile that she feels pull at her mouth as she she continues to watch how careful he is. "Thank you, Jack."

"Hey, you got it," he replies, before beginning to unwrap the dressing. Each layer of the material rougly envelops her finger at different lengths, and the end becomes longer in the grasp between his fifth digit finger and his ring finger in minutes. His movements slow upon sight of the wound, knowing he must take extra caution. "Doesn't it hurt? It looks pretty deep."

A few seconds of silence pass between the pair following Jack's question, so he looks up and frowns a little. She must notice his attention is on her, for she shakes her head a little and her eyes wander to his. "A little, but I ran it under the tap for, er … I don't know, I suppose it must have been ages."

Jack tilts his head to the side as he straightens up on the chair, though he keeps her hand steadily resting in his palms. "How'd it happen, Nikks?" he questions, tone low and worried. 

"Use your forensic skills, Mr Hodgson," she mumbles. Jack's gaze flickers up to her for a moment at this, and amusement glints his eyes and he quirks his eyebrow in curiosity, though he can't bring himself to smile the same way she is, however faint and tired it is. 

He inhales deeply and scans the room. His instincts tell him to look straight at the worktop, since she clearly has a knife wound. The black handle of the instrument in question catches his attention, and he surveys how it is without surface and balances precariously on the edge of the worktop. He quickly estimates that the serrated edge is speckled in traces of blood, before taking a quick glance to double-check.

His focus drifts to a white chopping board and guesses that it's a distance of about fifteen or twenty centimetres from the knife. On it is a half-sliced green bell pepper, with a few droplets of red liquid on its surface. A fast sweep of the rest of the worktop displays a few more blood trails and spots, some larger than others. 

He turns his attention back to Nikki, an ever-worried glint in his eyes. "Maybe you should hold off cooking with knives until you've got a bit more sleep."

"It wasn't the tiredness, Jack," she whispers. "I don't know ... I think I must have dissociated."

A transient reassuring and understanding smile lifts his weary features at her reply, before he carries on wrapping her finger. "Were you … er, just gonna eat a pepper, Doctor Alexander?"

She can't help but smirk at his comment. She shakes her head, looking pointedly to the pan on the electric hob. "No, Jack. I was going to cook it."

An amused _hmm_ sounds from his lips as he frowns and nods slowly. It's the type of sarcasm that may have driven her out of her mind sometimes, but now she relishes that he still has it after everything that happened. "Nice. A _cooked_ pepper."

Nikki's smile fades a little but it doesn't disappear altogether as she watches him reach for the roll of gauze. If he notices the torn edge that was clearly not cut in a controlled manner with scissors, he does nothing but snip it so it makes a straight edge and carries on.

"I was going to see if I could find some stuff in the fridge to add to it."

He steals a quick look at the double-door grey appliance and his eyes are pulled across the various photos of Nikki with him, Clarissa, Thomas, or with Leo, or Harry, or her Mother, to the white calendar that displays angry-looking red crosses. Jack would be blatantly lying if he said he hadn't noticed it before, and never had he asked her about it. A few past hole-and-corner glances to it had told him enough. But that doesn't resolve the sharp stab of guilt that churns in his stomach when it catches his attention, and it does nothing to resolve it now. 

Nonetheless he clears his throat and looks back down to her finger. He holds it in his left palm, and binds the gauze around it carefully as he considers how low her voice had been. He almost doesn't believe that she's telling the truth, or maybe her heart just isn't in it. God, he _knows_ that her self care isn't great at the moment. He won't entertain the idea of calling her out on it now, though. It had become better over the past month and a half, and if that's what she's managed so far, he can be nothing but proud. 

"You alright, though?" he asks, shooting her a quick glance before gathering the various things they'd used to treat Nikki's finger. 

"I'm fine," she says in a perhaps less than convincing tone. He detects this in nothing more than a second; it had practically become his sixth sense. "How was work?"

Jack lets out a sigh that, judging by the relief on his face, he'd been holding in all day. Nikki frowns as she looks at him. His body language had been hard for her to learn when he'd joined the her and Leo about three or four years back. But now, she can just about work him out with one glance. 

"Y'know, just the usual."

Nikki watches him go about making their much-loved beverage, and she swears that he could do it with his eyes closed. 

"Tea?" 

She raises an eyebrow as Jack turns around, dangling a teabag in his fingers. She takes one look at the pan and her stomach flips with the thought of food, so she nods kindly at him. 

"Care to hold forth?" she asks, standing from her seat and beginning to wipe the blood spots on the worktop. "What's causing that look in your eyes?"

"What look?"

"Your _I'm not going to say anything right now but it's okay because I'll just go and beat the shit out of people later_ look."

"Oh, come on. That's not a thing!"

"Yes it is, Jack. And I know you're not cage fighting at the moment."

"So?" 

" _So_ , you're not working through … whatever's making our - _your_ \- job seem like hell, and whatever's causing those dark shadows under your eyes."

"Sleep's never really agreed with me," he mutters, and Nikki is forced to look at his shoulder blades as he goes about pouring boiling water into the mugs. 

"I know," she says, dropping herself onto the seat but not once taking her eyes from him, even if he refuses to face her. "But even more so since Mexico." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asks, turning on his heel.

"It means that you've been tense and angry and worn out since we landed back in London. It means that every time I see you, you've got that look behind your eyes that … I don't know, is it regret? _Guilt_?"

Jack inhales sharply and shakes his head. He can't bring himself to look at her; he knows she's right. Nikki is _always_ right. Her tone was soft spoken, though. It's something he's never been able to figure out with Nikki - how she can be so concerned or angry yet have such a gentle voice.

He'd been careful with the tone and volume of his voice since Mexico - and especially since she'd collapsed after an inferno of argument they'd had there that he knows he was the fuel for. Not once has he shouted because he's terrified that if he gets a little too carried away in a rant that it will trigger something for Nikki. When he thinks about it, it sends a massive surge of dread and self-reproach through him. 

He can't rely on the gym or his MMA fights anymore because he'd be way too far away from Nikki if she were to call. And he can't rely on ranting to her. He can't get angry around Nikki. He _won't_.

"It's nothing, okay?" 

" _Jack_."

"Nikki, can we please just … not do this tonight?" comes the rather throaty question. He turns away and continues to dab the teabags in the mugs, though the movements are somewhat preoccupied and lazy. 

"Okay," she finally agrees after a few moments of a strangely strong palpable atmosphere of tension. "But I worry about you, Jack. And I'm not going to stop just because you tell me you're fine. That's precisely _why_ I worry."

"Nikki …."

"You don't face things, Jack," she whispers, her voice a tone even softer than before. But it's full of so much concern that Jack forces a lie from his lungs just to try and ease her worry. 

_He can't cause her any more pain than he already has._

"I'll, er ... just go to the gym tomorrow."

Nikki just continues to stare at him. There's no sense of control with Jack; all three of them at the Lyell know it. Countless times he'd turned up to work or crime scenes with ugly bruises on his face after a match, and each time Nikki would raise a deprecating eyebrow at him. But this is different. Now, she wants him to go and sort through this whatever way he can; she'd really rather he just talked through it with someone, since he'd point blank refused to talk about it to her save for occassions she'd managed to coax him to open up. But they're too few and far between for Nikki's liking; it doesn't help him in the long run if during the silences everything builds up again.

Shoving aside how she disapproves of his rather brutal pastime, Nikki nods carefully. "Okay. But just … try not to get beaten too much.''

"Yeah," Jack says as he relents the tension from his shoulders. A slight smile flickers on his face. "That's generally the idea."

___________

"Listen, what we talked about, erm … on Friday - I'm going to mention it to Jasmine tomorrow," she tells him as she takes a seat on the sofa, curling her legs up beneath her. 

Jack sits himself in the navy armchair and smiles across to her. "You haven't before? I thought the hallucinations were a big part of it?"

She cups the lukewarm mug and it sends a comforting buzz to her fingertips. "They are, I suppose. I don't know, they only really come if I've barely had any sleep in previous nights. Maybe they're … a substitute for the nightmares," she mumbles, more to herself than to Jack. 

"Maybe," he agrees quietly. 

"But then when I do sleep, most of the time it's all just nightmares. It's just a never-ending chain of cause and effect. It's hell, Jack."

The sensation of the warm mug almost burning his fingers is what he feels, then. His knuckles go stiff and white, and his lips press into a thin line. "I know," he whispers, his head dipping for a second.

Nikki's brows crease as her focus flickers to him. She knows that face. She knows that look. She knows what it all means. It hadn't seemed to matter how many times she tried to bring him around to her way of seeing it, that the same thing would have happened had he flew to Mexico or not. But when Jack is set on an idea, and especially if it seeps deep into his emotional reasoning, it's almost impossible to turn it the other way. 

"Did you sleep at all last night?" he asks, concern glinting his eyes, and his tea, unlike Nikki's, untouched in his hands. 

She shakes her head and gazes out of the window, into the darkness. A shudder at the sight forces her to turn her attention back to Jack. "A few hours, I think. There was one nightmare … and I kept waking up feeling on edge and panicky. I forgot to take the sleeping pills, so Lord knows how I fell back asleep."

"Because you're drained," he tells her in nothing more than a whisper. "You've been drained for over a month." Jack shifts himself in the chair a little; it's a damsight more comfortable than their chairs at the Lyell, and it does wonders for his tiredness. Hell, it's comfier than his matress at home. "You'll get through this. You're a fighter, Nikks."

She smiles sadly and leans against the back of the couch, the foam-like material a godsend to her exhausted body. Her calm gaze continues to take in the torment and dark shadows on Jack's own face, and once again it makes the weight of things that little bit harder to bear. 

"Sometimes I don't agree with that," she says, the words sounding hoarse and full of deep contemplation. There had been so many moments in that box where the hope and strength had become buried with the dirt. Searching for it had felt like the epitome of scratching at the wood and digging in the tiny patches of crumbly mud. It'd never been found on her own, although thankfully she'd had a certain Northern Irish accent just a phone call away for that. She imagines that she would have gone insane without it.

"Hey, just keep remembering it, yeah?" 

"Yeah," Nikki whispers, her dazy focus on her mug.

For another hour or so, they talk lightly about all manner of things. Nikki doesn't like hearing about the stress at the Lyell at all, though she regrets that there's very little she can do about it. Jack doesn't touch upon it too much, and she can think of multiple reasons why.

For the next half hour she skims the newspaper whilst Jack partakes in channel-surfing, until he gets a call from Thomas which results in a rather exasperated look appearing on his face.

Jack then shrugs his jacket on, muttering incoherent curses about needing to get a sweep of the scene done as quick as possible before the storm sets in. He places a steady hand on her shoulder and his eyes bore into hers. A tired blink weighs on her eyelids, her head tilted up to him. Her fingers fleetingly reach up to meet his, before her ears are met with his words of endless solace.

_"I'm just one call away, right_?"

Although, her heart sinks a little as he leaves; she'd give so much to go with him and be Doctor Alexander again. She wants to make the lives of those suffering from the loss of a deceased relative better, and she wants to provide justice in the face of injustice. To give the departed an answer for what put them in their final plight. 

The wind howls and rain pelts her windows as she opines, on the contrary, that no good had come of anything the last time she'd been Doctor Alexander.


	5. Chapter Five

Three glowing red lines are blurry as she squints with very little effort. If she'd remembered every time she'd been awake in the past month and a half, there would be a million numbers in her head. As far as she can gather as she turns over in sweat-drenched bed sheets, it's something around three am.

A charcoal grey sky hangs like a shadow over the many buildings. The rain has become a loud buzz in her ears; the heavy downpour has been pelting the windows for hours. 

Thin bedsheets twist around Nikki's legs and crease underneath her restless body, her heart thumping harder in her chest at every single noise. She moves a numb and quivering arm over herself to untangle the material from her stressed form. It's difficult, though, and a cry breaks from her as she falls back down in defeat. Her damp back hits the matress, before she curls back up and starts to wail quietly. Trembling fingers prod at her eyelids as if it will cease the visions.

The sky roars and she winces, panic rising in her chest like an acidic inferno. Fast breaths escape her tired lungs as she extends her arm out, dragging herself across the bed. Her fingers brush over the wood of the bedside table, and then she feels the cold of a small glass and nudges it along the surface. The movements become more frantic as the sensation of a wire comes into contact with her fingertips, and then they run over the crinkly foil of a pill tab, before she feels a smooth screen. She cries in relief and grasps it as best she can. The phone is brought close to her chest as if it is a lifeline which she cannot let go and must protect. 

A white flash illuminates the room at breakneck speed, and a deep gasp makes Nikki splutter and cough. The phone nearly falls from her grip as she hauls her body upwards against the headboard. Her mind is going too fast and the thoughts and terror shoots through her veins, but her body cannot seem to catch up. It makes her feel stuck and like someone is holding her down. Her limbs aimlessly yet slowly move around her as if she were making shadow puppets on the wall. The sheets seem to be trapping her more than they were earlier, and she cries again as she tries to get out of them. 

An angry grumble from the sky causes her chest to heave even more and the sweat to pour faster down her forehead. The bright lamp is still on as it always is, but she may as well be in darkness and she _hates_ that. Visions of wooden boards and friable soil and desiccated sand cloud her eyes, and, _oh_ , how she hollers.

Desperation ripples through her and the adrenaline wins the fight with her exhaustion. Her fingers reach down over the edge of the matress, and she pulls herself along the bed. Having numbly admitted defeat with her sheets, she allows them to confine her legs. Nikki hauls herself over the side of the matress and with a thump, her trembling body hits the carpeted floor. She lets her fingertips brush over the soft material, and a long exhale as calm as she can manage escapes her. 

The phone lay by her waist, and she fumbles around for it as if she cannot see. The screen flares into her eyes whilst she unlocks the device, before clicking on the _Contacts_ app, and scrolling down for the ones labelled _J_.

_But … isn't he … at work?_

_Crime scene … something like that …_

The wind howls outside and thrashes the trees, as she stops. With a wince, she pushes the phone along the carpet, Jack's contact information going with it.

_Oh_ , how she needs his voice. How she needs him to tell her that she is safe and … _and_ -

_"I'm gonna get you outta there, Nikki. I'm gonna get you out!"_

A loud gasp sounds from her lungs and her limbs barely register with her brain as she leaps up. The room spins and her heart hammers in her chest, as she stumbles to the windowsill. Her fingers grasp at the blind's pull chord as Jack's voice still echoes in her head. 

Shaky fingertips run over the glass pane, as she leans against it heavily. Tapping sounds reach her ears at random intervals as the droplets run into one another and cascade down the surface. New droplets join the others with each second, and her heart begins to slow, finding its rhythm with the beating of the rain. 

A slow exhale escapes her as she blinks tiredly, sweat sticking strands of her hair to her forehead. She hears Jack's voice in her head.

_Don't fall down, Nikki._

She isn't even sure he's said that at any point, though right now, reality is slipping away with the panic and she cannot be sure about anything. 

_Don't let yourself fall._

She sinks down against the cold wall, her shaking body succumbing to the deep-rooted lassitude but she does not close her eyes. 

She _cannot_ close her eyes.

Wearily, her gaze falls to Jack's contact information still on the phone. He's working, so she can't bring herself to press the call button no matter how much she needs to. But the sight alone brings her enough solace for now, at least.

And she will not close her eyes. 

_____________________________________________________

A tired sigh is a gentle hush compared to the caterwaul of the wind. It pelts against him as he jogs through the almost-flooded car park. His tall figure echoes in various puddles illuminated by the street lights.

Upon entering the flat, Jack sighs and shrugs off his sodden coat. A few speckles of water land on the wall beside the pegs but in his tiredness he fails to notice. The blinds are still open, yet he doesn't remember opening them. There's a familiar silence as Jack slumps over to the couch and picks up the remote that lay upsidown on the floor. He flicks on a random sports channel and turns the volume up so he can hear it, but not so high that any of the commentary words make any kind of sense to him. 

After discarding his rain and mud-splattered boots in the hallway, he slogs to the kitchen. He leans on the worktop and impatient fingertips tap on the marble surface. The rain pounds the windows and drowns out the distant murmur of the television in the other room, the low humm of the refrigerator, and the occasional click from the pipes. 

Letting out a rather fed up sigh, Jack just stands there in the small kitchen. For these past few months he has felt like there is something missing from his day-to-day life. He sleeps, however fruitless it may be on most nights, he gets up, eats when there's time, and goes to work. When he returns home, there isn't much for him to do. He'd never been into television that much, or any other pastime. The only pastime that he loves is currently out of bounds. Sometimes he visits Nikki even when she didn't call needing him, but it isn't always smooth-sailing. There are things she will tell him, and things he will decipher on his own, about how she is suffering with the trauma. And he is always glad that he can be an almost constant source of comfort and safety for her, but it's a double-edged sword.

Thinking about their ordeal blurs all the memories and voices from those few days together. All he sees is red, and all he feels - besides a burning rage that pulsates in his veins - is that he is of outstanding fault for what happened to Nikki. But he can never beat that anger and guilt away as he feels somewhat duty-bound to be able to get to her as quick as he can - not just because of their friendship, but because he feels like it's his responsibility to protect her. It's more than he managed in Mexico, at least.

And with that thought, Jack's fingers curl into a fist as he trudges into the hall, before taking a right to his bedroom. He doesn't bother changing his clothes, instead just opting to collapse onto the creaky matress. In spite of the current time of three-forty-two am, _and_ his exhaustion, Jack's eyes remain open and thoughts swirl in his head much like the ferocious storm outside.

Not feeling like he can go to the gym or fight has really slowed his life down. With Jack, there is always something to be angry about. Most often, due to his tendency to be a little too sensitive, it's as a result of a harrowing case - though, most of them are - that notably affects him. 

Nowadays, though, he feels like there is too much anger and it never goes away - too much to be considered _just_ work-related, anyway. The time he spends at the Lyell and at scenes is straying further from his mind as the aftermath builds up and he doesn't quite know how to deal with that; his work is the most important thing actually in his life. He wonders briefly if this is how Nikki feels - if she, too, is being swallowed up under the aftermath. Hell, he knows she is. He sees it in her tiredness and he sees it in her fear. And when he sees it, the culpability hits him and _dammit_ he wasn't supposed to let her to get tangled deeper into that fucking violent mess. 

Jack sighs and pushes himself up from the matress. He rubs tiredly at his forehead and runs a hand through bedraggled hair. It seems as if sleep is not going to agree with him this time.

Nikki uses logic to deal with most things - save aspects of her post traumatic stress, of course. But Jack has always relied on his gut and impulses; if he's angry, he will yell or punch a wall; if he can't figure something vital out, he will tense up. Nikki isn't like that, and when she says that he isn't right, he knows that he isn't getting to grips with this. 

He doesn't know _how_ to, apart from MMA fighting, because that's all he has ever needed to get rid of any past emotions that were weighing him down. Yet he is almost certain that if he did know another way, he would still shove all the guilt and vexation away into the back of his mind instead of actually doing it - if something like that is even acutely possible any more. 

Jack dislikes how much he isn't _actually_ used to this much goddamn indignation and fury, or the self-reproach that seems so different to anything he has ever felt before. And, Jack being Jack, that sure as hell means something. 

If he chooses to go for a fight or, in fact, just train, he will be _too_ far away from Nikki if she needs him. He can't take that chance; the one thing he actually _had_ managed to do in Mexico was lift a finger to press the cracked screen and the green button every time his phone buzzed. He _could_ just talk to her and be of comfort whilst at the gym, but the thought of being so far away from her makes his stomach churn. And she's still on the long road to recovery; if she calls him, chances are, based on what's happened so far, that it will be for something she cannot yet deal with on her own. 

His body gives way again and he falls back down onto the matress, and he cannot help the way his eyes flutter closed even as all the cogs still spiral in his head.

In the event that he _doesn't_ go, on the other hand, he'll get a worried earful from Nikki and he doesn't want to cause her any more stress. Hell, if she calls, he'll just have to hope that traffic works in his favour.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey folks, hope you're all doing okay! 
> 
> there's actually more dialogue in this chapter than i usually like, but there wasn't really another way round it, and for this chapter i feel like it works. i have the next few chapters all planned out and i'm really excited to get working on them. the story was originally supposed to only be about how Jack comforts Nikki with her PTSD, but because I'm not specifically planning where it's going, Jack's struggles have sort of automatically come into light but I feel like it works for him. it's really interesting for me to discover/explore how Nikki's and Jack's respective struggles are clashing/affecting one another, too :)
> 
> anyway that's enough from me. i hope you enjoy this chapter - and stay safe, everyone x

Dull clouds had covered a vast amount of the sky. As she had walked down the street, a cold shiver had travelled up Nikki's spine. She'd wrapped her grey scarf tighter around her neck, flipping it over her shoulder but managing to keep her bandaged finger out of the way. To Nikki, the atmosphere had seemed strangely still, as if something could have jumped out from the cold and grab her. She'd shaken her head of the thought as she'd walked through the puddles, but it'd still clung on.

In her therapist's home, though, she feels a lot safer. The house is about the same size as hers, with an oak finish but a slightly more rustic interor than her modern one. The lighting is warm - not too bright and not too dark. _As long as it isn't too dark_ , Nikki will often find herself musing. 

The outside today is dismal and wet and there isn't much natural lighting in the room due to the lack of sun; the blinds are still halfway open, though. The homely office-type room their sessions take place in is light and airy; the walls are white, and most of the furniture is made from a modish type of wood. Simple grey canvases hang in a trio on a feature wall of cream-grey brick. She doesn't have to worry about _this_ room being too dark, at least.

Finding a therapist had been her first resort. The images of Mexico and the voices of El Buitre or Eva wouldn't stop playing in her head, the first night her and Jack returned from Mexico. It was after Jack left her to sleep, after hearing the door close and lock as he went, that she had decided she needed a therapist. As she tossed and turned in her bed, she had been able to tell that this was going to become a big problem for her. 

But after pacing her house for another hour or so as sleep and breathing was straying further from her abilities, the thoughts had struck her: _What if I can't trust them? What if they drug me and shove me underground?_

Which is why, as dawn rose and everything was whirring in her head, she had decided that she wasn't going to risk trusting a therapist. 

Some time during the following day, Clarissa had phoned, exchanging pleasantries and asking if she was okay, assuring her that if she wanted to talk at all, then Clarissa would always listen. So Nikki had broken down then and there to her friend over the phone. She'd cried for about an hour with a panic attack somewhere in between the sobs. Clarissa, after Nikki had regained her breathing, had then suggested a therapist she knows.

_"You know, if you're still not sure about trusting someone after what happened, I know a therapist. I've known her since university; we met in a psychology lecture. And you'll be fine with her, I promise."_

Nikki had frowned at the offer, at first. But then, Clarissa's promises are never empty. And Clarissa is her friend. Her _good_ friend. So, with that, Nikki was forwarded Jasmine's contact information and after a few days, her first session was scheduled. The whole 'a friend of a friend' thing had really reassured Nikki in the long run - that nothing would happen to her because she has always had complete faith in Clarissa and her words of honour.

Of course, it hadn't been a quick decision for Nikki, regarding whether or not she liked Jasmine during their first while of meeting. The hour felt very strange. Hell, it had her on edge. Since escaping the box, Nikki hadn't been alone with another person - especially a stranger.

Nikki had sat on the cream couch, hands claspsed in her lap, and her heart thumping in her chest. Exhaustion was a heavy weight on her eyelids as she'd tried to discern what her therapist was _really like_.

At first, every move Jasmine made, Nikki's tired gaze was quick to follow, even if she were just moving her head. Nikki had watched it all and had deciphered it as pretending, and that somehow there was a darker motive underneath everything she did. Because, as it had turned out, simply giving someone a bottle of water could lead to days under the ground and trapped in darkness. 

However, as Nikki begun to panic, and as Jasmine's calm eyes looked _right_ through her, Clarissa's words had replayed in her head. 

_You'll be fine with her, I promise._

So for the remaining half hour of their first session, Nikki had tried her very best to believe that. 

And Nikki had come to see that, under small remnants of paranoia, that Jasmine was calm and was actually not what Nikki had expected of a therapist whatsoever. She had adressed Nikki with no trace of faux clinical politeness, as, on the contrary, had so many other medical professionals Nikki had met in her years as pathologist. She had a warm smile from the word _go_ , and a presence that Nikki could only describe as soothing. The way in which she spoke was soft and slow. Nikki had also noticed her quick wit once they'd got talking. _No wonder she's one of Clarissa's closest friends_ , she had mused.

They'd become quite fond of one another, save a few doubts on Nikki's part. For the first ten minutes or so of every session they don't talk about Nikki's PTSD. They will exchange friendly pleasantries and discuss the weather, or some such thing. And then, they will get into Nikki's PTSD. She prefers it because this way, it's calming and doesn't feel too clinical. 

Jasmine doesn't like to jump straight into her client's problems, like other therapists might, and she can tell that Nikki would much rather they don't for the first few minutes, anyway. 

The pair are currently about three quarters of an hour through their fourth session. Nikki's socked feet are tucked beneath her legs, and she leans on the armrest of the couch ever so slightly. Her thin khaki green sweater is soft against her skin, and her loose jeans do not trap her too much. Her wavy hair is pulled back and tied in a rather unkempt bun. 

Light streaks through the blinds for a minute or two, separating the two women. Jasmine sits on the couch opposite Nikki, her legs crossed and leant against the back of the couch slightly. She reaches for a glass of water, the cuffs of her black and white speckled blouse hanging down from her wrist. She then tucks a few strands of shoulder-length light auburn hair behind her ear, and picks up her pen again.

"Given that we've just discussed the hallucinations, I think it's a good idea to ask about your sleeping," she suggests, her words soft.

"Umm … I haven't been sleeping very much … or, at all, really," Nikki replies, running a hand over her hair.

"No?"

"Every tiny noise in the house wakes me if I'm nearly asleep. And, well, you know what happens when I'm actually asleep," she whispers, surprised if Jasmine can hear what she had actually said.

But, in their few sessions prior, Nikki has often spoken quietly and tiredly, and it's something Jasmine is used to anway. "Tell me about the noises."

Nikki takes a deep breath in and moves so she is no longer leaning on the arm rest. Instead, she is leant to the back of the couch, her fingers hastily twiddling together. "Well, there are things like the washing machine or the dishwasher. They're loud and I can hear them in every corner of the house. And then …"

Jasmine observes how Nikki's focus drifts from her to the window - to the brightness. It isn't anything new, and Jasmine knows the reasoning behind it. She waits patiently; she believes that Nikki will get there eventually, and has gathered that pushing her is not a good thing to do.

"There are noises like clicking, hissing, and banging. Screaming, shouting, and guns," comes the almost inaudible whisper from opposite.

"I see," she says. "Can you tell me about the sounds you heard in Mexico?"

Nikki feels her chest tighten at the mere question, and her heart hammers in her chest. "Um … in the first couple of days, there were people shouting in protests and crowds … and guns going off."

"What about the clicking?" Jasmine asks after a few moments. 

"There's a sort of clanging sound, and I think … when Jack and I gave El Buitre his insulin shots. He was in a prison cell," Nikki speaks, trying to recall everything through the hazy fog and horrific memories. "And then the banging, umm … I hit the ... the boards a lot, in the ... the box."

"Okay," comes Jasmine's gentle voice. "And can you tell me about the hissing?"

Nikki's forehead creases as her eyes swim with tears. "There are all kinds of insects in the Mexican desert," she rambles quickly, before letting out a shaky exhale. "They were right next to me … all around."

"Okay. Thank you, Nikki - I know that was hard to remember." Jasmine offers a small reassuring smile. "What are your immediate thoughts, when those sounds wake you? Or, when, I'm presuming, you hear them in the day?"

"I'm trapped. And I'm alone. Even dead," Nikki answers in a split second, her focus seemingly stuck on the carpeted floor.

"And when you wake during the night, are there things in your bedroom that you can have to remind yourself that you're safe?"

"No. There's nothing. Well, there's Jack - on the phone, I mean. But sometimes he works long hours and into the night, so I can't always call him," Nikki says, finally her focus moving to meet Jasmine's. 

"So, apart from Jack, there's nothing to comfort you, and take your mind back from Mexico?" When Nikki shakes her head, she decides to move onto another question. "When Jack's on the phone, or when he comes round, what makes you feel comforted?"

Nikki speaks with surity in her voice, and it feels a little abnormal; it's something she has scarcely felt whilst recalling Mexico. "The idea of safety. When I heard his voice … when I was in the box, it saved me. It kept me sane."

"Do you think that you would still call him even if he hadn't been in Mexico with you?"

A tiny flicker of a smile pulls at the corners of Nikki's mouth as she replies. "Yes. He's a friend. A good friend."

"And do you think that the sound of his voice would be as comforting as it is now if he hadn't been in Mexico?"

"Yes. I know I'm safe when I'm with Jack." 

"Okay. That's good - it's good to have someone to rely on. But earlier, you mentioned there have been times where you couldn't call Jack. How did you cope without him?"

Nikki takes a deep breath in and her eyelids close slowly. "Last night, for example, Jack was called out to a scene. The storm and visions were keeping me awake, so … after a while, I went downstairs, and I switched the lights on. I put the TV volume up really loud to try and divert my attention elsewhere. I sat, and waited."

"Waited for what?"

Seconds of silence pass, before Nikki opens her eyes and manages to lool at Jasmine as she croaks: "For the chaos to stop."

Jasmine nods slowly. "And did you wait all night?"

"Until about seven or eight. When it gets light, I feel safer."

"Okay. I think what we need to try and do is discuss some coping strategies. Apart from having Jack, the ones you have now are avoidance strategies. They may help in the short term, but long-term, avoidance is unhealthy - though, I don't think you need me to tell you that. Until I see you next week, I would like you to sort of test the waters, if you will."

Nikki offers Jasmine a small smile, very much liking the sound of the proposal. "I think that would be helpful."

_____________________________________________________

Jack yanks his grey duffel bag from the passenger seat, before getting out of the car. He twists his keys in his palm after pressing a button that caused the landrover's headlights to flash. 

He exhales, the dull clouds hanging like a shadow over him. Rain speckles the ground and the cold air bites at his skin. He doesn't care, though.

Usually, he strides the length of the car park with adrenaline already pumping through his veins. But today, his shoulders are slumped as he slowly steps through the puddles. 

In all truth, Jack wants nothing more than to feel at one with the pounding of his heart. He wants nothing more than to feel his fists wallop against a bag, and for all of his emotional baggage - as he refers to it - to disappear with every movement and every heavy breath. But somehow, as Jack nears the gym's entrance, his steps become slower and the doubt constricts his chest. He remembers what happened the last time he came here needing to filter Mexico. 

Jack leans against the stone wall beside the two double doors. He exhales and peers into the distance of rain-splattered roads and buildings shadowed by grey clouds. With a firm shake of his head, he pulls his phone out of his jacket pocket. He swipes his finger across the screen and immediately the screen shows _Contacts_. He scrolls down to Nikki's name and, after a moment's hesitation, presses the call button.

With another sigh, he holds the phone to his ear and closes his eyes.

_"Jack?"_

"Hey, Nikki," he says, the words sharp with his accent.

_"Is everything okay?"_ she asks after a few moments. Jack can hear traffic in the background, and his stomach flips a little. 

"Er, yeah," he replies quickly. The question then tumbles from his mouth before he can stop it: "are _you_ okay?"

_"Jack,"_ she says, and he can hear her tone is light and he thinks she might be smiling a little, _"I'm_ fine. _Are you sure you're alright? You sound a bit …"_

"A bit what?" Jack asks, his tone low, his trainered foot kicking the other absently.

_"I don't know."_ He can hear her footsteps along the paved street on the other line. _"A bit tense, I suppose."_

"Er," Jack mumbles, snapping himself out of it, "listen, I'm about to go into the gym."

_"Oh, that's great!"_ He hears the genuine relief in her voice, though if she is a little worried, he doesn't fail to hear it. _"So why aren't you?"_

A small smile flickers on his face. "Hmm?"

_"I know you, Jack Hodgson. You're probably standing outside because you don't want to leave me on my own. Am I right?"_

_Partly_. "Maybe."

_"And, I've been in that gym to drag you back to work enough times to know that I should be hearing shouting and what have you on your end. But I don't."_

Jack shakes his head and closes his eyes again, her familiar tone a peculiar kind of solace to his ears. "Right."

_"Look, Jack, I'll be fine. I promise."_

He hears the slight temmor in her voice, and he runs a hand over his tired face. "Nikki …"

_"I've just come out of my therapy session,"_ she says.

"Yeah, I guessed," he replies, his voice almost a whisper. "How was it?"

_"It was alright. I feel okay - so, go on. Go and beat some bags, and sort through everything the only way you know how."_

Jack doesn't reply. Instead, he feels like sliding down the wall. He suddenly feels weighted down with exhaustion. 

_"Jack? If not for yourself, then do it for me. I worry about you, and I don't like the idea of you burying your head in the sand like this."_

And, of course, Jack will _not_ cause Nikki any more worry. He just won't. 

Once Jack is inside, the receptionist, Jonathan Smith - though more commonly known as Nate - greets him with a knowing smile. "Been a while since we've seen you in here!" he beams.

"Yeah," Jack flashes him a quick smile. "Some, er … some stuff's been happening."

"As long as you don't go keeling over this time!" he chuckles. "But seriously, Jack, are you taking care of yourself? You're still looking a bit tired."

A long exhale escapes the Irishman at that, but nonetheless he forces another smile on his face. "Yeah, mate. Course. Listen, can I …?" Jack asks, gesturing towards the gym. "I've got a lot to catch up on."

"By all means!" the rather stocky man replies enthusiastically. He notices that Jack seems a little irate today, nevertheless from past experience Nate puts it down to pent-up energy. After all, any groggy mood from Jack has always disappeared after a good while of punching or fighting. 

Once in the locker room, Jack is hit by the familiar sounds of shouting and clanging metal, but he is nose blind to the pungent smell of sweat. A few of the lads give him friendly punches to the shoulder by way of greeting.

Jack _should_ feel adrenaline, and he does, but only a little. However, he can't back out. He has no choice. He has to do this; ironically, for Nikki. 

As he envelops his knuckles in white hand wrap and tries to gear up for the adrenaline rush, unease sits uncomfortably at the pit of his stomach.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the delay, folks! i was writing the next three chapters to make sure they all fit together. 
> 
> i'm not a doctor, and any medical terms in this chapter ive learnt from either google or watching BBC's casualty and holby city. it might be wrong, but it's the best i could do.

_After the flight back from Mexico:_

_The almighty and overwhelming wooshes of overhead planes are miles away, now. But Jack and Nikki are still as depleted as they were on that twelve hour non-stop flight from what had quickly become hell._

_Shadows dance by his feet, and slide across the seats of the taxi at quick intervals. Lights flicker by the windows and burn his eyes. Rain droplets splatter on the windows, and puddles form on the streets that pass by fast._

_With a slow turn of his head, he regards the almost broken woman beside him. He swallows as exhaustion waves through him. She stares. Orange steaks of light darken the already black shadows under her eyes. The red rims become that little bit more crimson, and days of tiredness and stress are on every inch of her face. He hates it; every fibre of him loathes the overdrive he sees in her. The only positive thought he can muster through the deep currents of the past few days, is that they survived. They were so close to doing the opposite. But they managed it._

_Jack sighs and looks out the window again. Despite the searing rage that fires in his veins - all the built-up everythings and nothings - a surge of relief flips in his stomach; he recognizes this street. The cozy little bakers, the corner shop, and the tall industrial buildings that float further behind and into the distance. The quiet neighbourhood. Because it isn't even where his home lay. It's where Nikki's home lays. She is safe here - well, it's where she's_ most _safe, at least._

_____________________________________

_Nikki's brows crease. Rain falls all around, in her hair and on her face. They are like ice crystals on whichever bit of her bare skin they can find. Her still-dusty trainers splatter in a puddle. She does not recognise the water; she almost thinks there should be sand._

_Inhaling deeply, a crisp, fresh dampness fills her lungs. It replaces the humid sticky atmosphere that had been trapping her body for the past few days - hell, what feels like a week._

_"Nikki?" comes the almost inaudible, yet defeated whisper. She turns her head, her eyes flicking up slowly to the tall exhausted Irishman next to her. He places his hand on the small of her back and starts to walk forwards, as if guiding her in the right direction._

_Nikki smiles the slightest and saddest of smiles, almost choking back a cry. She needs him; she leans heavily into his touch, grateful for the support and being saved by his security._

_Once they are inside, Jack closes the door gently behind him. His first instinct is to turn on the light; he figures that's what she needs most right now._

_Nikki exhales slowly. Just how many minutes - or perhaps even hours - did she spend in that box, thinking every thought she could have ever thought? Besides the bouts of panic, she could - often straight after the short phone calls with Jack - lie there in complete silence. And she could close her eyes, for, in there, everything was darkness no matter what she did. She had thought about her cozy, safe home. The photo frames of various pictures with Leo, Jack, Clarissa, Harry, her Mother, Thomas, scattered around the house. The soft blankets draped over the couches and the beds in every room. The postcards and magnets on the fridge._

_And then her eyes would open and she would be staring at the boards, and the dirt, and the darkness._

_Nikki feels tears burn her eyes; the light, as much as it is heaven and a great solace, blinds her. Flashbacks flicker before her eyes and the dirt falls on her. El Buitre's voice murmurs in her ear. Gunshots richochet through her head. She hears herself scream. She hears her fingernails scratch at the boards._

_The ground seems to fall from beneath her feet, and the stairs become misaligned. Her heart slows to defeaning thumps that echo in her ears. She feels herself sway. She feels Jack's arms around her wasit as he mumbles 'woah, woah, woah'._

_She feels her head fall against his chest as the dizziness swallows her up._

________________________________________

_Jack sighs and shakes his head. Nikki's gentle breaths are a peculiar godsend to his ears; hell, it's a world away from the hyperventilating that used to wake him in Mexico after her escape._

_His fists tighten around a handful of soft bedsheet. Thoughts swirl around his head and he can feel his heart thump angrily in his chest._

_Nikki is safe but she_ so _nearly wasn't. What if he'd questioned Eva sooner? What if he and Gustavo didn't spend that, oh, so precious chunk of time driving that inhumane cartel leader around? Because why had he been so damn stupid to think that a quick exchange could release Nikki from the hell she was in anyway? If Jack himself had learnt anything about that place it's that the ignited webs of brutality, threats and criminality could never have been unravelled so easily._

_But perhaps he had needed it to be that easy. To have Nikki with him_ \- alive - _on the next flight back to London._

_His knuckles turn white and he needs to lash out. But she is sleeping so peacefully and for the first time in so long, too. There is no way he could lash out around her anyway. No - he needs to get away. Nikki will be safe, will she not? She is home, now. Mexico is physically five and a half thousand miles away. Across the Atlantic Ocean and where, from here, the gunshots can be drowned out and the law can promise a good and honest service. This is the safest place she can be._

_That's what Jack has been telling himself for the past hour. Shadows pass over Nikki's bedroom. He is slumped in a chair beside her bed. Blood boils angrily in his veins but he will not leave her until she wakes up._

_Some ten or so minutes later, Jack feels soft fingers caress over his. They are so calm and so tired. Jack flickers his focus to Nikki. She blinks slowly and sits up, looks at him in that way that sinks his heart and forces his gaze away from her. But somehow, this time, he cannot look away. He watches the gentle look of worry that passes over her face._

_"Jack?"_

_Her voice was not all soft; there were remnants of disapproval and worry. He stares down at her their hands. His knuckles are still pale white. A quiet gulp sounds in his throat as her thumb moves over the back of his hand._

_His focus moves slowly and hesitantly back up to her, at the utter concern in her eyes. Fuck, he won't give her more to worry about._

_"Listen, Nikki ... I gotta go," he croaks, dropping his head and closing his eyes tight._

_"What? Why?" she asks, and the tremmor of panic in her voice makes him snap his head back up. Tears burn his eyes as he looks at how broken she is. He uncurls his fist from the sheet and reaches his hand up. He swallows again, the rage forced down._

_He brushes strands of loose wavy hair from her face. "I just need to take care of some stuff. I'll come straight back."_

_Her eyes flicker around his face, her brows furrowed ever so slightly. She then takes her own hand to the side of his face. She brushes a thumb underneath his eye as a fond smile twitches at her lips. "I see it, Jack. In your eyes." She watches him frown a little, and she watches the familiar emotions flicker over his face all at once. "Go," she whispers._

_Jack runs the back of his index finger across her cheek, the dark shadows fading in and out of the room. "I promise you I'll come back. Yeah?"_

_"I'll be okay?" she manages, after a few moments._

_Jack shifts in his chair and his eyes lock to hers. That earnest look that always manages to hold her so close. "Mmm hmm. I'll lock the door, okay? No-one's got ... any ... reason to hurt you, okay? We're not there ... anymore. We're here. We're safe_. You're _safe_."

_________________________________

_By the time Jack absently hands the money over to the taxi driver, his limbs are heavy as he walks through the gym car park._

_Worry stabs at him as he thinks of Nikki alone and unprotected. He almost turns on his heel to flag down the next taxi and order that they take him back to her house. But he cannot; this rage and guilt that has been burning in his mind ever since he realised she was missing needs an outlet._

_And should he return to Nikki's right now, he will punch a wall and he will shout and he will yell, because what the hell else is he meant to do? What other way is there out of this mess?_

_He had made the mistake of letting the rage and guilt loose the night she escaped, and it had resulted in Nikki blacking out._

_He'd had to tear himself away from her for a reason._

_________________________________

_The clamour of shouts and heavy workout music is so very unwelcome inside his head. It burns and sears but he needs to be here. It's the only place that Jack thinks he will be able to let go of this rage. Leave Mexico and the guilt far behind._

_He throws the first punch. It's strong and hits the bag with a loud thwack. For the first time in days he smiles. Release. Finally._

_His heart drums in his chest as he goes for an underarm punch with his dominant hand. It hurts a little, though; he had, in yet another bout of reduced concentration, neglected to envelop his hands with wrap._

_Jack grunts loudly and throws another few punches, and they're quick. Careless in the way of tactics, but nifty in the way of an outlet for his emotions._

_His coach shout tips at him from across the room. But Jack's ears and mind are full of one thing and one thing only: Thomas's earnest voice._

_"I'm sending you to bring Nikki home, Jack. You take whatever you want, but bring her home."_

_Their boss had thought him capable of it. Hell, even he had - as he'd gone this way and that in the Lyell picking up the equipment for Nikki, he'd had it in his head; he will bring Nikki home._

_So why the hell hadn't he?_

_He has fought tooth and nail for cases before - dug and dug for the truth because fuck he could always get there in the end._

_And he'd run through that desert enough times to develop blisters on his feet. The sun had seared his forehead enough and he'd racked his panicked and overdrived mind over and over and over again for something - hell, anything._

_'What is she doing?' Thomas had asked with a heavy sigh._

_'Something. Anything. I think that's the point,' Clarissa had replied._

_Jack roars as his fists collide with the bag. His heart hammers painfully in his chest. He ignores the migraine that burns in his head, and the way he feels his eyelids droop with every single second. All he wants to feel is the agony in his knuckles that are already bruising with each punch he throws._

_He had understood that Nikki wanted to do right by Luisa. Nikki is stubborn and determined and he loves that about her. But just how far had she been willing to go? It was her fucking downfall._

_But he thinks that he is more to blame than she is. He was meant to be the one to break her out when things got too dangerous. To make her see otherwise when her loyalty and resolve made things worse._

_'We need to think about going home, Nikki.'_

_He had told her that many times. He couldn't bear for her to be so close to the threat of everything that was tangled up in the webs of the inhumane drug cartels. But she had stepped nearer and nearer to it with every refusal. With every time Jack failed to bring Nikki home._

_The room spins. The railings and various punch bags around him turn so quickly that he loses his footing. He heaves heavily from the exertion as he stumbles forwards into the bag. Jack's eyelids blink slowly. Open. Cloosed. Open. Closed._

_You lost Nikki in the most dangerous place in the world. You lost her under the miles of hot desert sand and abandoned tumbleweed, amongst the dirt and the never-ending gunfire._

_That's what he tells himself as he lay in a heap on the mat._

_Jack groans in effort as he hauls himself back up, ignoring concerned shouts from others around him. His adrenaline has faded where instead it should he accelerating._

_''Jack, mate, you're exhausted - give it a rest for tonight!'' he hears someone say amid the loud ringing in his ears._

_Nevertheless he ignores it and bellows so loud that it burns his throat. He goes for another two punches. But his arms and legs feel weaker, now. The punches are limp and his legs feel like a deadweight beneath him._

_''Come on, mate. You don't look well!'' comes another voice._

_Jack groans as the weakness spreads fast like a plague throughout his whole body. The guilt and the thought of Nikki still at home alone stabs at him. Sweat pours down his forehead._

_He manages to look up for a split second to see five or six guys run towards him. Jack winces as his legs finally give way; he staggers in all directions. He feels as if he is moving through a thick fog as the days of exhaustion and stress seep heavily in his body._

_"Call an ambulance!"_

_Jack's head collides with the thin mat as people crowd around him. Hot and cold flashes wave through his body. His eyelids flutter and his body shakes. Succumbs to the lethargy._

_And then it's total darkness._

_____________________________________

_Jack's eyes flicker open. He winces at the sudden burst of light around him; whether it's because he had been used to the dim lighting of the gym, or due to his current medical sate, he has no idea._

_A quiet groan escapes him as he moves his head to the side. His ears detect a steady beeping beside him. His limbs still feel numb and heavy. He would have rolled his eyes upon realising where he is, only the thudding pain in his head advises him to do otherwise._

_"Ah, Mr Hodgson!"_

_Jack's brows furrow slightly - he hadn't even realised there was someone else in the room with him. He looks over the bed and inhales sharply._

_"I'm Doctor Fagan. How are you feeling?"_

_Jack sighs and tries to sit up. He groans a little as the exhaustion still weighs him down, but carries on anyway. He exhales deeply and leans his head against the pillow. "I probably don't even need to be here. I_ feel _fine.'_

_"Hmm," the Doctor sounds as he looks at Jack's clipboard, "apparently your mates at the gym did warn the paramedics that you wouldn't be too happy when you woke up."_

_He lets himself smile a little at that, until a realisation hits him in the stomach. Jack shakes his head despite the pain. "I've got somewhere to be."_

_"Where?"_

_Jack swallows. "A friend - I promised her I wouldn't leave her alone."_

_"Then what were you doing at the gym at midnight?"_

_He huffs impatiently and blinks through the severe lethargy. "I had to sort through some stuff. But I told her I'd come straight back, and now I'm here."_

_"Can you call her?" the Doctor suggests, nodding at Jack's mobile that sits on his bedside table._

_Jack glances at the device, suddenly thankful at whoever had given it to the paramedics. He considers how scared Nikki will be, how worried about him she will be. But then he wonders how much more worried she will be should he tell her that he's in hospital. He can't cause her that kind of major stress right now, and if he calls her she will likely hear the beeping around him and figure that he's in hospital. So he picks up the phone with a different idea in mind._

_Finding her contact name is something that he does without even thinking about it. With tired fingers, he types out:_

_Hey, sorry if I wake you but just wanna check you're okay. Traffic's really bad so I'm having trouble, but I should be with you soon._

_Jack stares at the words, well aware that this late at night - even in London - traffic isn't so bad. She probably won't buy it, but there's no way he can tell her where he actually is and worry her to the point of no return._

_And in the last few days they have both found that letting one another out of eachother's sight is a very real nightmare. So, he adds 'I'm okay, and you're safe, I promise x' to the end of the message and hits send. Jack puts the phone back down and looks up at the Doctor through weary eyelids._

_"We've done bloods, LFTs, and ECGs. They all came back normal. The paramedics said your heart rate was through the roof en route, but it seems to have returned back to a healthy rhythm."_

_Jack shakes his head, clenching his fist under the thin blue blanket draped over his waist. "Told you I'm fine."_

_"But you didn't just collapse for no reason, did you?" Doctor Fagan smiles dismissively. "Have you been under any significant stress lately? Have you been sleeping at all?"_

_The Irishman can't help but let out a scoff. "Yeah. Work has been, er …" Jack trails off, trying to ignore the lump in his throat that arises as he thinks of what happened to Nikki, " … it's been pretty rough these past few days."_

_The Doctor nods. "Do I need to contact your boss at all?"_

_Jack immediately shakes his head. Even though Thomas let Nikki go to Mexico, and even though he was the one who sent Jack to bring Nikki home, none of what happened was Thomas's fault, and Jack knows that the older man has does nothing but support him since his return. In any matter, Jack is convinced that all duty of protection had landed on him the minute he stepped off that plane._

_"No, don't worry. It's … it's over now, anyway," he says in an almost inaudible whisper, eyes fixated on the floor. It's far from over for Nikki, so it can't be over for him, either._

_"Okay. Well, I think it's safe to say that you collapsed from exhaustion and stress. We're going to monitor you until tomorrow morning, and then we'll see where we go from there. In the meantime, try to get some much-needed rest."_

_Jack nods inattentively as the Doctor leaves. His phone buzzes beside him, and he blinks slowly, another wave of tiredness washing over him. He turns his phone on to reveal the dim lock screen._

_Nikki_   
_1:30am -- > I wasn't sleeping. I can't. Whatever you're up to Jack, be careful x_

_He sighs and lets his head thud onto the white pillow. His eyes burn with unshed tears because how many times is it possible for him to fail her? How many times can he tell her he can save her, and then not? How many times can he promise to come back for her and then get stuck on the other side of town? Oh, god. Jack thinks she must be so scared._

_He stares out of the window, where the black night swallows up the moon. His drained body is pleading with him to let it rest, but that's far from his mind, now. The ECG machine continues to beep steadily as stars gather in clusters in the sky. He promises himself that he won't go to the gym again. Before anything else, he will be there for Nikki; he will always protect her and keep her safe._

_He wouldn't be able to live with himself if anything else happened to her. Because, to Jack, Nikki matters more than anything in this goddamn world. He'd shouted it to Gustavo in the raging heat of Sinaloa, and he will say it again without hesitation._


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are, folks! the penultimate chapter (temporarily) - i'll explain when i post the next chapter. 
> 
> i had real trouble getting the very last sentence to make sense and i still don't think it makes sense, but it's the best i could do.
> 
> enjoyyyy ;)

Jack walks straight past the bags. He had learnt, during that goddamn night they returned from Mexico, that punching the bag leaves room for remembering. He thinks that fighting an opponent will be any different, because perhaps it will give him more of a challenge; and somewhere else to focus. So he had abandoned the wrap he enevloped his hands with, opting for gloves instead.

The workout music is drowned out by various shouts and sounds of punches and hits. He can feel the adrenaline all around him. Shoving the gloves on, he ducks underneath the ring and jumps up and down a little, trying to work himself up. 

"Long time no see, Jack!" his coach, Eddie, says, approaching the side of the ring. A pleased smile sits on his face, but there is doubt in his eyes. _Great._

Jack huffs and faces his opponent. Both participants boast muscles and strength, but Jack's opponent looks calm and controlled yet ready to let loose at the same time. Jack, on the other hand, just feels anger burn in his veins and he clenches his fists. 

Jack starts to jump forward, trying to think about tactics through all the anger and guilt. He puffs out, before throwing a penetrating jab. It thumps his opponent's hip loudly. The opponent delivers two quick probing jabs at Jack's waist. He wthdraws and heaves heavily. 

"Woah, Jack!" Eddie shouts, throwing his arms up. "Probing jabs first! You know this!" 

Jack roars and delivers many rapid probing jabs, not caring that he has left himself exposed. All he wants to do is fight and punch. The anger and guilt burns in his body and he hits the opponent harder. 

"Stand back, Jack! Get _back_!" 

Jack shouts and ignores his coach, instead throwing an overhand punch to his opponent's head. The heat of his rage swirls around them. As Jack draws him arm back, but fails to withdraw his whole body, his opponent's hands grab behind Jack's knees, before slamming him down to the left. 

_Nikki, this is not our job. And this is not our fight._

Jack growls as he hits the mat, before throwing a powerful punch to his opponent's face. He stands back up as his opponent lands a hard fist to Jack's nose. He shouts with the sudden burst of pain and falls against the side of the ring. 

"Take a break!" Eddie shouts, his glance wary on Jack's opponent for a second. He dips under the ring and faces Jack, who is heaving heavily, inattentively dabbing at his bleeding nose with his hand. His veins are more or less popping out of his head.

"What the hell is going on, Jack?" Eddie demands. "You should have prevented that takedown by moving backwards after the jabs!" 

Jack groans angrily and shakes his head. "I know." 

"You need to get that seen to," his coach offers, holding his hand up to the medical team situated on the other side of the room. 

Jack scoffs heavily and moves to the end of the ring. Agony throbs in his nose and his lips taste like blood. But that doesn't matter anymore. 

"You're _not_ fighting right now!"

" _Yes_ , I am!" Jack winces and throws punches into the air, getting more adrenaline into gear. 

Eddie sighs and shakes his head, before signalling to the medical team to stand down. "Your techniques are all over the place, Jack," he says, leaning on the fence of the ring. "You didn't come here to fight, did you?"

Jack glances at him, before scoffing again and watching his opponent duck back underneath the ring. "Nikki made me."

"Well, whatever. Look, I don't know what's going on with you at the moment. It's distracting you, and exposing you to takedowns and defeats, right? You're not even ten minutes in and he's already broken your bloody nose! If you're standing in this ring, you're here to fight. Nothing else. If you stand in this ring with things on your mind, you're putting yourself in a lot of danger."

Jack just shakes his head. He knows the deal already. His coach wants him to fight - and hell, is he going to fight. Trying to ignore the pain thumping in his face, Jack shouts and goes for his opponent again, his chest heaving and blood boiling. 

__________________________________________

Nikki is currently sat comfortably on the soft pillow of a kitchen table chair. Her feet are rested across an adjacent chair, and she runs her finger over the rim of her mug of tea. 

Jack is sat on the couch channel-surfing again. He has been relatively quiet since he arrived about thirty minutes ago. She would have been quite taken aback at the severity of the injuries on his face, only she had sort of expected it. After all, he hadn't been to a match since before Mexico. Nikki knows that he is out of practice. Something that Jack, surprisingly, doesn't care about: as soon as he walked through the door, Nikki had stared at his puffy, darkened eye, and his bruised and bandaged nose. He'd just shrugged and muttered _'I lost.'_

Jack _should_ have been infuriated. In fact, Nikki has never seen him so fired up apart from when he is fighting. A simple shrug at a defeat in the sport is _not_ Jack. 

Nikki sighs and tries to turn her attention back to reading the newspaper Jack had brought her. Although, as interesting as the headlines may be, she can't help the way her eyes frequently flicker over it to look at Jack across the room.

She never likes it when Jack is this quiet. Whenever something relatively significant had bothered him over the many years they'd worked together, he'd just kept his head buried in work and would only open his mouth if he was to contribute something to a case. 

He hadn't said much today, either. She finds his presence a little strange, for he had muttered a distant 'hey', had handed her the newspaper, had asked her how she was, and then, he had slumped on the couch. 

And it's not necessarily the first time Jack has come over to her house when she didn't even call needing him. Perhaps it's because he feels the need to keep an eye on her, or to know that she's okay. Or perhaps it's because they're good friends, and the events of Mexico have pulled them closer.

Nevertheless, Nikki cannot help but feel the ball of unease that has been sitting restless in her stomach for the past month. She knows Jack pretty well, can distinguish most of what's going through his mind just by looking at him. But that's where the problem lay. He had looked at her many, many times. But he hadn't _properly_ looked at her yet. Not for a month, and Nikki misses it. She strangley misses the way they both sat depleted on the veranda one night in Mexico; the way Jack looked right at her and she had seen the depths of his eyes. Now, they are distant and empty. She recalls the night she escaped, and the way he refused to look at her as they lay exhausted, burning in the heat, on the only guest bed in the centre - the way he had shouted and yelled and she had collapsed. The way the overwhelming sadness and anger in his eyes seared into hers, before complete darkness.

‘'You haven't looked me in the eye since the day I escaped," Nikki finally says, placing the newspaper down. 

Jack glances at her from across the room and raises an eyebrow. ''What are you talking about?''

''You can't, can you, Jack?'' she pushes, sitting up slightly and frowning at him. 

"Nikki …" Jack sighs and leans forward in the armchair.

'‘How long are you going to keep this up?’' 

'‘For as long as I have to!’' he gritts through his teeth, abandoning the television remote and standing up. 

'‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’' Nikki asks, watching as he walks over to her. 

'‘Nothing," he mumbles, avoiding her gaze.

The woosh of cars passing by is unusually distant, tonight. All Nikki can focus on is the way Jack's fist is clenched against the table, the way his face looks similar to the night she escaped. So tormented, so sad and, oh, so tired. She figures that it's exactly how she looks, too - how she's looked for a month. But she has a reason; she has PTSD, and she is trying to work through it with a therapist. Jack hasn't been diagnosed with anything; what he has is is too many emotions and they have been shoved out of the way, as best as he can. 

"Jack, for christ's sake!" she says, slight frustration in her eyes but her voice is relatively calm. "You're angry."

He shakes his head and dares to look at her tired countenance for a flicker of a second. "I'm not angry."

"Yes, you are," she insists, and opens her mouth to say something else. But then she stops. Nikki takes her legs from off the chair and stands up, Jack's somewhat wary gaze following her. "Shout at me, Jack."

" _What_?" His eyebrows quickly furrow at this, and he looks at Nikki as if she just told him to jump off the roof of fucking Lyell Centre. "No! Why would I?"

Nikki steps closer to him, despite feeling slightly intimiated by his obvious anger for the first time ever. "Because you need to shout at _someone_. You can't shout at Clarissa or Thomas, because they're your friends and your colleagues. You can't talk to a therapist because ... well, because you just _won't_."

Jack's shoulders square up, and he stares at her. "And what makes you think that I can shout at you, hmm?"

"You've got no other choice!" Nikki suddenly shouts, causing Jack to flicker his gaze around her face as if a little taken aback by the outburst.

"This _has_ been my choice!" Jack hisses after shaking his head once. "The first night we got back from Mexico, I left you alone. Remember that? I just had to go, okay? I felt all this rage and guilt inside me, building up from the past few days, and I knew that if I stayed with you any longer, it would have erupted."

Nikki stares at him for a second. "So? You've been angry around me _before_. The-"

"No, Nikki," Jack cuts her off sharp, his jaw tense. "Do you think you would have handled it that night? Me shouting and swearing - hell, even just _talking_ about Mexico when we’d only just got back? You were still in shock, for christ's sake! Do you think you would be able to handle it now, with your PTSD?"

Nikki notably flinches at the mention of her post-traumatic stress, causing Jack to shake his head at himself with regret. "... I-I want to, Jack," she says quietly.

"I know," he tells her, before pursing his lips and swallowing for a second. "But it would have - and still _would_ \- trigger something, you know that. And you don't need me to remind you what happened the last time I lost it, back in Mexico. Do you really think I wanna do that to you again?"

Nikki knows he's right. She knows fine that had he shouted back then, and if he shouted even now, the consequences for her would be a suffocating trip down a not-so-long memory lane. Perhaps remembering the time she shouted at El Buitre for Luisa's location, all the times she shouted inside that box. And hell, they'd had to hold on in that godforsaken place a day longer, because Thomas - in spite of understanding both Jack and Nikki's desperation to get away - had insisted that Nikki was too ill to travel after her collapse. 

She blinks slowly and leans her hand on the table slightly. "That's why you never told me anything," she whispers.

Jack exhales and relents the tension in his shoulders. "I couldn't put you through any more stress and pain. Okay? And then after that, I couldn’t go and fight. Because I was too far away from you ... I couldn’t _protect_ you," he says, his voice a strangled hush.

Nikki can only stare at him. She'd had no idea that his guilt and feelings of protection stemmed _this_ far. 

Jack bows his head and inhales sharply, a million thoughts whirling around his head. _Was he right to do all this?_ "Nikki, tell me I was wrong to do what I did," he whispers, his focus still on the wooden floor boards. 

"To completely shut yourself off, from me, even Clarissa? To not go the gym because it meant you can’t protect me? To sacrifice your emotional wellbeing - your only proper outlet - for my safety?"

"Mostly, yeah," Jack nods and brings his head up slightly, but he still can't bring himself to look at her. 

_What must she think of him now?_

"Jack," Nikki whispers, almost in bewilderment. But her tone is gentle and forgiving. "I don't know what to say." Her gaze wavers from him as she tries to sort out the revelations that had just happened.

"It sounds crazy now we’ve said it out loud, but after what happened to you …" Jack trails off, shaking his head. He gives her a flicker of a smile, but there is certainty in his eyes. There was no way he was going to sit on the sidelines while she struggled through this. There was obviously no way he was going to take any chances and loose her like that again.

Nikki shakes her head, before stepping closer to him. She sighs gently and wraps her arms around his muscular build, nestling her head against his shoulder. Jack's numb gaze follows her movements, before he acknowledges the embrace. He brings his arms around her small waist, closing his eyes tight. He sighs slightly and sways her a little. 

They are unaware that minutes seep by, as they remain like that, arms tangled around the other, and a precious silence falling around them.

All they know is that neither of them has ever savoured the feeling of their live heart beating against the other's so much.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i absolutely love both nikki and jack individually, as friends, and as a couple. but for this i decided to keep them friends as i wanted to keep that dynamic realistic to post-Mexico.
> 
> i have really, really loved writing this fic. and thank you to all the readers, kudo-leavers and bookmarkers! 
> 
> now to explain. so, this is the final chapter. but just temporarily as i have another multichap to write and finish, and ive also got another short multichap to plan and write. 
> 
> but good news - i can still write one shots. i can only write two multichapters at a time. it's with regret that i decided to put this one on hold for now, and give the others some time. but i can still fit oneshots around writing two multichaps, and i actually have an idea for a jack/nikki oneshot and i'm sure it will get written some time very soon!
> 
> anyways, enjoy the final (for now!) chapter, and stay safe folks <3

Nikki would lying if she said she doesn't miss the daylight. It's become one of her favourite things. Come the darkness, she is dead, and in hell; trapped and scared, even more than she is during the day.

Sometimes so much so that it brings her to a horrific state of panic. She will hear her own cries and she will feel the dirt creep onto her skin. Her fingers will tingle and her chest will constrict. All sense of control she'd had pre-panic - by some miracle - will be swallowed up faster than she can breathe air into her lungs. 

This time round, tiredness had not long washed over her once she could breathe again. It's never this bad on nights like these; she lay with her feet comfortably resting across Jack's lap. The bright streak of two-am moonlight seeps into the room. She feels Jack's fingers slowly trace over her ankles as she finally manages to close her eyes. 

But the peace, of course, is short-lived as gunshots echo in her head. She sits up on the couch gasping for breath, panic rising through her veins. Jack wakes from his doze and is coaxing her within seconds. 

At two-thirty am, the pair are still sat in dim lighting. Nikki's exhausted body lay heavily on Jack, and she hears the steady thump of his heart. It would be enough to lull her back to sleep - because it always has been - only, there's a burning question in her mind that she suddenly wants an answer to. 

"What did you mean, before … when you said mostly?" she mumbles. Her face feels dry and sticky with the remains of the tears that had accompanied the way the flashbacks defeated her.

Jack's arm slackens a little from around her waist. He blinks tiredly, not moving his head from where it comfortably tilts against the back of the couch. "Hmm?"

"I asked you if you really did all you have to protect me. You said mostly. I didn't think anything of it at the time."

He fidgets a little, causing her to reposition herself against him. "Nikki … when I left you … when we returned from Mexico, I went to the gym, alright? I was really angry … at myself. I could feel everything burning up inside, and the gym was the only way out."

Nikki frowns. She doesn't doubt Jack's desire for that specific outlet, but she questions the logic. After all, she had watched him fight to keep himself awake on the twelve-hour flight back to London. She remembers wondering where his breaking point would be. She remembers thinking that he would definetely push himself too far, sooner rather than later. It was the bags under his eyes, his scruffy hair, and the way he twitched at every noise made during the flight that had told her that. They were never scared twitches, like Nikki's. They accompanied a dark look in his eyes, and every time someone walked down the aisle of the plane, he had reached his hand to Nikki. To protect her. 

"But, Jack … you were exhausted. We both were."

"Yeah," he says in a low whisper, "yeah, we were."

Nikki leans off him, propping herself up on his thigh to look at him. "What happened? You told me that you'd come back. You texted me saying that traffic was bad, but I knew something wasn't right."

Jack's gaze flickers around her face as he swallows quietly. He knows that look - the one in her eyes of soft concern and curiosity. For a moment he doesn't understand why she isn't mad at him for lying; she is Nikki, after all, and discovering the truth is something she has done on a daily basis, for so many years. And she can read him like a book - always had. 

"What happened that night, Jack?"

He closes his eyes, before shifting himself to sit up slightly. "I collapsed, when I was training," he tells her, his voice almost a low tried grumble. 

Nikki's red-veined eyes widen noticeably at the revelation. She moves her palm from his thigh and leans against the back of the couch instead. "You what?"

"I'm fine now, okay?" he says, still not wanting her to worry even if it occured over a month ago, now. "It was just burnout from Mexico. It was gonna happen." 

Nikki sighs and regards his still-weary face. "Were you in hospital?" 

Jack nods and gives her a flicker of a smile, trying to reassure her. "They kept me in overnight. I didn't want to worry you, so I just didn't tell you the truth. I'm sorry, Nikks, for lying. And … I'm sorry I didn't come back that night."

Shaking her head dismissively, she returns the slight smile before leaning back onto him, the tiredness returning. "The important thing is that it wasn't more serious. It could have been, Jack."

He lays his arm back around her shoulder, and blinks tiredly. "I know."

__________________________________

At three-thirty am, Jack stirs and moves his head to the side. He is met with the soft murmurs of Nikki sleeping soundly, and he's grateful that she wasn't mad at him, for he knows that she has every reason to be. He left her in the first place, even if he _was_ going to erupt. And he didn't come back. 

Jack looks down at Nikki and sees how uncomfortable she looks. Yes, she is leant against him, but there is barely enough room for both of them on the couch. It's why he had resided to the floor for so many nights before while she slept. But this time, he shifts himself a little, and secures his left arm underneath her knees, and his right across the lower part of her back. He shushes nonsense into her hair as he lifts her, in case she wakes at the movements and panics. Even if he has done this many times over. 

Once upstairs, Jack lifts the duvet over Nikki, but only to her waist - he knows that it helps her feel less trapped. 

He sighs and sits next to her, before placing his head in his hands. Exhaustion washes through him again, but he doesn't want to leave Nikki like this again - hell, he won't. So instead, he makes a move to stand, to go and sit downstairs. 

But as he does, he feels fingers touch his wrist. He turns and looks down at Nikki to see that her eyes are half-open.

"Stay," she whispers, blinking tiredly.

Jack holds her calm gaze for a moment, before giving her one small nod. 

_________________________________________

Nikki watches the shadows pass slowly across her ceiling, realising for the first time that they may just be reflections from outside, and not El Buitre or Eva come to get her. 

Nevertheless, even with that thought, with fear still niggling at the back of her mind, she turns to her right to see a tall, dark-haired Irishman lying on the other side of the bed. He looks so still. The orange glow from the two lamps makes his bedraggled dark hair a peculiar shade of warm brown. She smiles softly and returns her gaze to the dimly-lit ceiling. 

"Are you watching me?" Jack mumbles, a slight smirk twitching the corners of his mouth. He rolls over slowly to see Nikki lying on her back, her weary gaze settled above her. 

"Not anymore," she says, a tiny smile playing at her lips. 

Jack remembers how she had quickly dozed off after his head hit the pillow, he assumes, because she felt safe enough to do so with him there. But he wonders what woke her, and knows it could be a number of horrific things. He almost doesn't want to ask. "You alright?" he asks quietly. "You were asleep."

Nikki lets her head tip to the right, meeting Jack's own tired focus on her. "I was, and now I'm not."

Jack gives her a fond wink, before reaching across the small space between them. He gives her hand a small squeeze, before returning his arm to lie across the thin material of his t-thirt. 

"Thanks for staying, Jack. It makes sleeping a lot easier," she whispers. 

It's not as if she has never told him this before, but every time she does, it makes him glad that he can finally help her like this. He has always either dozed off downstairs, or fallen asleep slumped on the chair beside her bed. But this is the first time he has lay so close to her. The white duvet remains relatively well-pressed beneath them both. Jack has neglected to use it because there's no doubt in his mind that it would be too weird if he did, plus he never uses his own duvet at home, anyway. And Nikki had thrown it off a while ago, telling Jack that it made her feel too trapped, this time. 

Jack humms and looks at her again. "Well, your bed is a lot comfier than mine."

"You cheeky bugger," Nikki laughs tiredly as she reaches her arm across to nudge his shoulder.

__________________________________

Jack is aware that it is only a few hours until the sunlight replaces the steaks of moonshine that lie across the bed. He inwardly groans as he remembers that that means it's only a few hours until he has to get up and face another day of sampling, crime scenes and dead bodies whilst battling severe exhaustion. 

He finds a strange solace in lying in the quiet, watching shapes of dim light dance and fade in and out of Nikki's otherwise dark room. But it's not just that; he can't help but feel a great wash of relief. Because they made it. He could easily be standing over a headstone with Nikki's name on it right now. 

Because they really had come that close, and it almost _was_ a very harrowing reality. 

Jack feels his eyes fill with sweltering tears at the thought. His stomach does flips as he subconsciously and quickly reaches for Nikki's hand. He still stares at the ceiling.

Nikki turns her head to face him, and her throat starts to constrict because she can see the torment on his face. She curls her fingers around his gently, trying to release some of the tension in them. She exhales a soft sigh - she knows what he is thinking. She had thought it enough times in the past month, and every time it brings up too many different feelings to the point of being overwhelmed for her, too. 

"I can't fight right now."

Nikki looks at him again. He is frowning a little, and she runs her thumb over his knuckle. "Why?" she whispers. "Is it because you collapsed that time … and you're scared of collapsing again?"

He regards her, and his right eye stamped with an angry purple bruise darkens in the light. "No. No, it's not that. Look, Nikki, yesterday, I got distracted by … the guilt. So my opponent took all the chances he could and blindsided me. Which is why I ended up like this," he says, lazily pointing at his facial injuries with his free hand. 

Nikki fidgets to lay on her side, and notices the way he is looking at her. It's not as if he is waiting for her to say something; it's the almost-empty and glassy look to his eyes that tells her he wants to say something else. 

"There's more, isn't there?" she asks quietly, her careful gaze watching as Jack inhales and closes his eyes. 

"Everything came back when I punched the bag, the night we came home from Mexico," he starts, his voice low and his eyes fixated on the wall behind her. "It's why I fought that match instead. I could push everything away for just a while. Before it all came back, anyway."

Her fingers still trace over his slowly. "Before what came back?"

Jack takes heed of the concern on her face, and he forces himself to look her in the eye - finally. For the first time since Mexico, he is looking _right_ at her. "It's just you … on the other end of the phone," he says, his voice almost an inaudible whisper. "You were so damn scared and I couldn't do anything."

Nikki feels her throat burn. She's lost count of the times she has told Jack that she wouldn't have stayed sane in there without him. Every phone call, every conversation, every painful confession they whispered to one another, every time Jack relit the tiny flicker of faith that she would be saved - all of it flashes before her eyes in an instant. She inhales and sniffs. "You did everything," she says, staring at him in slight shock. _How can he not see that?_

Jack shakes his head against the pillow and sniffs, a burning tear escaping down his face. "I never found you," he croaks out. 

He should be angry. That's one of the thoughts Nikki has next. Jack _should_ be pacing around the room, fists clenched. But instead, he just lay here. There is no rage in his eyes, and Nikki finds herself a little bewildered at that. His eyes are nothing but painfully hollow.

"You saved me in there," she says, moving a little closer to him. "Your voice-''

"No. Please, stop," he whispers. "It's not the same," Jack argues, closing his eyes as if it's all just too much pain to handle. 

Nikki finds her own eyes begin to water as she sniffs and reaches her free hand across to the side of his face. She is careful of his still-recovering broken nose, as she runs her thumb across his cheek, and under his uninjured eye. Jack opens his eyes at the touch, and freezes slightly at the suddenly little amount of space between them.

"It doesn't need to be the same," she says.

His glassy focus flickers around her face as he considers this. He wants to say something - anything - but all words seem to be stuck in his already constricted throat. He feels her fingers trace behind his ear and then through his dark bedraggled hair. He blinks tiredly at her.

"You need proper help, Jack. I don't think you're ready for fighting just yet."

"Nikki …" Jack mutters, his soft gaze still on her, and exhaustion waving through him again. 

"Just … all you need to do is have two or three sessions with a therapist. Because once you've sorted through all this guilt, you can get back to normal," she whispers. 

He blinks back more tears as the lethargy weighs heavy on him again. He looks down to their still-entwined hands. He feels her other hand on the side of his face and somehow it dulls the broken shards within him. It seems that everyone has their breaking point, and he has met his.

He nods once through the numbness, and Nikki smiles softly. But before she can be glad of Jack's new-found agreement to get help any more, she suddenly hears her nails scratching at the wooden boards. She knows that it's not just cars passing by, or her house making random noises. It's Mexico. In her head but at the same time, everywhere else. The shrill sounds seemingly abrade her skull. She lets out a small cry as the panic rises within her faster than she can process it. Nikki wants to move closer to Jack - to safety - but finds that her limbs have frozen. 

Jack understands what's going on in an instant, and he instinctively moves his arms around her. Nikki finally feels her body relent from its momentary paralysis. The first thing she does is move her palm to Jack's chest, feeling his heart pulsate steadily beneath his thin t shirt as she does.

It calms her within seconds - just enough to keep breathing, anyway. And for now, that's enough for her.


End file.
